Day 44 – Exhale

Sure some things are going wrong
but if I forget about all that
a lot of things are good

I try to exhale all that poison
but the well comes up dry
and if there’s still a couple drops
there’s no harm
and who needs to know?



Heavy as fruit on the branch,
pulled downward,
a soul can fade, poisoned with ghosts.

Helpless as sea grass afloat,
tossed about,
a soul can waste, menaced by ghosts.

Who is so strong to resist
that longing
for what we have never seen?

What is the seed, planted deep,
that ever insists
on a thing we must need?

Who is the arbiter
granting ghosts form,
and when,
and why is he sleeping for me?

For if I were born without a head
I should not miss it like this.

Desire, be gentle with me who admires
but dares not to hope anymore.

Desire, be gentle with me who only aspires
to love no ghost anymore.