We’re ghosts, every one of us,
I’ve learned that much, at least,
and the earth is a stinking stew pot
of souls aching to be released.

I am a ghost, that I know,
festering along with with the rest,
and I’ll curdle until I crumble
and my heart falls out of my chest.

You’re a ghost, just like me,
with an invisible wail,
and you’ll float through this age a stranger,
as your tears harden into hail.

We’re ghosts, every one of us,
neither alive nor dead,
and we pass through each other softly
while our screams draw on unsaid.