Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Sonnet #102

Physical space is relative for ghosts, I fear
They do not seem to wander far from home
For they come back to haunt us every year
But if they are incorporeal, they should roam
For the planet on which we walk is spinning
And it spins around the sun, which spins
Around the arm of the Milky Way galaxy
Which hurls away from the place we all begin
So ghosts, they are tied not to a place,
but to a relativity, a proximity to energy
The microbiotic life that carries the trace
Of the host they knew. We carry the memory
In relationship to what we touch, to what we know
Unless most ghosts are in the void, above, below

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