the last time I had spoken to ghosts
was when I unbuttoned the world
and took a seam ripper to all its edges
sitting in your old chair
holding the fabric of remembrance
chewing on the mouldy taste of grief
slowly freeing the overlocked words
I had buried deep into the stitches

the thing is,
when I get dressed in the morning
There's always a button missing
There's always a sadness
stuck in the hem

A moment for the moon
half-dipped in midnight
A soft sigh escapes
embellished with stars
as it crawls back
into your atmosphere
holding in its center
a small whisper of
an outstretched hand

When the spring winds fell into my lap
and my stride began to fatigue
and the taste of new days
often soaked in reminiscence
became too difficult to stomach
I tied the skyline around my soul
and made curtains from the sun
to shade the windows from the grey
of afternoon storms
when all the speeding and whirling
thoughts fall into my lap
they intertwine with a breeze
drifting from place to place

With my head rested
against the shoulder
that sits between each breath
between each little heart beat

With my head rested
against the wind
that flows between
the inhales and exhales
of this little life

unpaved roads
where will we go
tumbling between brick and brick
latching on to a shoulder sack
filled to the brim with burden
in it we found places for memory
places for love and hope
places for fear and pain
and a big gaping hole
for the ever growing grief
that never seems to fall out
so we head to the lake
and to the sea
because the rocks we hold
are too big to try skipping
across puddles

Right at the seam of the blue lake
childhood runs through the sand
I, cautiously keep my feet on the rocks
leaving behind new footprints
laughing about what still makes us kids
leaning against the fallen tree trunks
that never abandon us to find our balance

I reach out, with both hands
and between *******
are worlds, and worlds, and worlds

if by chance, with this spring
we go on to bloom
with new cuts
and citrus slathered over my hands
I bask in the beautiful scent
and tremble with the pain
just as you once said
It’s how things go
when life hands over  
the lemons and tangerines
we, barely prepared  
still coming into new shoes

But funny enough
here we are
I guess we never asked
the tulips and roses
how much it actually hurt
to burst through a bud
and bloom