Taxing. Distracting. Shimmer down shadows.
I spent hours yesterday … with them … talking …
knowing that they’re shade, not ghosts. Goodness knows
there’s a difference. Goodness knows everything.
This good rush of hope that just once hidden
things would want me. I listen to static
in my ears. I swear, behind that foreign
noise are words. Maybe it’s all a sick trick
just to amuse others. Who? Who knows. “Naw.
‘e’s jist de Doctor.” I’ve heard that before,
but not here, not with light and not-light criss-
crossing on the walls … like I’d grind my jaw
over some daft ghost … daft metaphor …
daft bliss that there’s more to this than just this.