Ghost

Ghost

Looking like a jungle

is where I am never myself.

I don't want to trip over the sounds

of the wilderness’s bewitching hour.

Life apart from the pain I conceal

from myself is impossible.

Come play in the rain.

This is not that same winter downpour

where December was you. Where the loss

of my dead became custom.

I counted the dead roses

in the garden. I forgot to write

my name on the mailbox.

You couldn't listen to my dreams.

I couldn't question yours.

The scars are still there.

I don’t know how many years I spent

trying to forget, or how many years

I’ll spend trying to remember.