laramie

Ashes to ashes,
love to love.
Though I'm not what I should be,
I've nothing to prove.

We all speak with ghosts
and are not afraid
in dreams:
a pleasant conversation
over the spilled blood,
scrubbing at the stains.

The morning light
shines through us:
flesh glowing
like stained glass.
We are hardly more substantial
than ghosts, ourselves.