Not hypnotized enough
to stop thinking
of your ghost,

not so easy to throw
aside: vibrations
of our moments

together, stuck
in the glass windows
holding us inside,

scraped  with your
presence… What’s

still torturing people
is the knowledge
death isn’t

the end– Broken
blue orbs, whispers
in the wind–

Imperceptible hands
pulling heartstrings.
The eternal

struggle is not knowing
where your energy
is glowing across

thin-veiled seas,
why it hasn’t reached
us who want it

most, need it
the most,
phantoms for comfort.


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