in our lonely bones

in our lonely bones

we believe in ghosts

we cannot believe

we were nothing before

we are only now

we are nothing after

we cannot take comfort

in that being true

in being that true

a spark in the infinite

nothing

we cannot accept

we are only sparrows

briefly warming ourselves

and then flung out of doors

we cannot believe

what we know to be true

in our bones

we believe our only ghosts

in our lonely bones

we believe in ghosts