The ghost in my mouth holds me close 
             to his fondness, to his waiting, 
he has my eyes, my sea legs, my fractions 
and interest in mind. 
                         I raise a little lantern 

to his observance and grow a little older. 
I rinse my face for launch 
like victory against the blinds. But my face is returned 

wherever I look. I look at the moon and my mouth 
is all hooves. I can barely say what had me holding my breath. 
Maybe nothing will come of this. Where now, 

my little light? Forests thicken. Foot rests. Chicken. 
                   You are all in my feelings. 
                                                           Am I closer 
to the mirage rising, camels and palm fronds, 
the fanning that reveals itself 

                   as blood built on blood. The friends I had. 
I am no longer afraid of their kisses.