ode to ghosts

i am / the reflection from my laptop’s dimmed screen / black

paper with white ink, invisible smoke holding the pen like

an ouija board from the other side. / i am a room with the sign

sorry. the lights are broken inside. you know, like a box /

schrodinger’s box. / the trolley dilemma in which the lever

is my first love’s hand, the one i had let go of five years ago.

i am / a dream in a portrait in a mural in a cathedral but my

tongue is a star-burnt rock. / the floor of my room is made

of letters carved in limestone tablets, one of them reads

hey, i’m sorry. my first love is a girl but God she is beautiful

and i don’t think i can ever be forgiven as long as i love her /

a fountain pen erupts between two hands / oil-drenched.

i am / an acrostic poem that spells out someone else’s

name. / the air is heavy inside the box / skinner’s box.

someone is rubbing their palms together in my room but

i can’t see through the dark / my greatest fear is an asteroid

hitting earth and not being there to see it / round glass

shatters around the word yes on the board. yes. yes. yes. yes.