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.