Shimmery ghost
faces bloat the water
and thicken the reeds
Theirs the thin
scritch of a hinge
in an upstairs window
Theirs the old-
fashioned names that match
the heavy silverware
The blinds flutter
like rows of helpless moths
when they pass
For them we fashion cars
made of paper and paste, tiaras
made of dark-eyed seeds
For them fat bankrolls
of Mickey Mouse money, the smoke
unwound from Cuban cigars
A boat in the shallows,
two coppery coins
dropped in the hold
In response to Via Negativa: Night barge.