I don’t believe in ghosts
Let’s say you were ready / for bed in your brown-rimmed glasses with your black yoga pants & your loose green sweatshirt. For you I would shovel / the driveway in the dark, the unsolvable ice under the curdled snow, & I would scrape / your windshield & warm your car. I am trying so hard to explain myself. I am trying so hard to avoid words / like love as if they were long clouds ruining safe flights over America’s midriff. I am trying / not to put you in the usual gardens. The important thing is you / were always quiet about matters like this, always willing to let certain phenomenon be / observed only. I’m fond of the scar on your ass where they took that mole. There are times I put your shirts away just to feel / how light you are.