What we now know, even ghosts are ruined.
Heard between the floorboards
Like past footsteps of ancestors
We woke to find them lapping at saucers of milk
Crying over the mornings mist
We didn't wait for the sun to burn them away
We held them gentle in imaginations
Took selfies, tested viscosity, made careful documentation
Because if you speak they will leave
By the time you read this, for example
A hummingbird will have cried louder, hush
(Do you still have hummingbirds?)
(Do you still stay silent in the presence of love.)
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