If there were such things as ghosts, could I be
lucky enough not to see their light–I’m thinking spectral
white to green & somehow still beyond UV?

If there were such things as ghosts, could I be
lucky enough not to feel them pass through me, more shivery
than waiting–December, midnight–for a Brooklyn-bound train?

If there were such things as ghosts, could I be
lucky enough to hear their chains & moans
but understand their words instead?

If there were such things as ghosts, could I be
lucky enough to meet my father again and tell him
about the towers that fell across the river
from his boyhood home & about the countries
where I’ve learned to live since the year I could legally drink?

If there were such things as ghosts, could I be
good enough
to let him go
again?