moon
light
from the window
seeps
around the ghost
envelops it in a milky aura
folds into its body as it glides
through walls
if there were ghosts, I would
twirl in slow motion around
their twirling pirouettes
their disconnected
hands and feet
dangling from bodies
that radiate a white gauze of light, the
fingernails of silver scratches
that graze the furniture
hovering in the air of our
mutual dreams