Ghosts Live Within Skin
Ghosts live within skin as pale memories that
swim across a body seemingly no longer touched
by sunlight. Words from years gone by twist and
gather form, they gain strength from nostalgia shaking
the remembering witness to the core. Syllable
spirits spiral slowly, unravel at a pace time tried
to forget long ago. Questions haunt, hovering
like spectres hanging answers-possible and
resolutions-perhaps, from fingertips frozen in the
ice of a yesterday remembered tomorrow. Ghosts
live within flesh wounds, white faces rearing up
in the steam of a coffee, in the mirrored fog of a
shower’s condensation. In the misty breath of a bedroom,
cold. Ghosts live within scars, half-moon scars, which
hold funerals for the dead that do not die: before a
wake, for the haunting past which embodies the
ever-painful present.
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