As a ghost

To be a ghost, to be the wind in the trees. That which animates the seemingly inanimate, that which has presence without form. This is my wish, this is my dream.

As a ghost, I am there when you call me. You think, “I know he’s here with me,” and I am. The phone remains unanswered, but freed from body, from location, I no longer reside in that unreachable. He who could be and is not transforms into he that can never be and always is. There is a transcendence of time and space as a ghost, an unphysical omnipresence.

As a ghost, no longer a burden. No longer the hungering mouth, the yearning heart. Who will he be? Where will he go, what will he do? No more. A song in the car, a stain on an old shirt, the smell of a forgotten food. Haunting only that which brings me back, lingering in the periphery until called forth. Always there, never unwelcome.

And when you dance, may you summon me. Unencumbered as if for the first time, never so before. For as a ghost, I will be the wind through your branches, suggesting, supporting. And you will be beautiful and they will weep and you will smile, knowing.