I've learned the secret of persistence
Looking for ghosts is a longing for existence.
way past the age of glamour games,
You feel for cold spots in hallways of the St. James.
turning puzzle pieces that do not fit,
The ghost box scans radio signals bit by bit.
flirtations with courage when cornered in deadlocks,
You interview the air, tempting unreliable knocks.
the heart's perplexity and temper at the impasse,
Thermal cameras catch the heat on the brass.
a hope chest full of knots.
Electronic voice phenomena track ghostly thoughts.
Love is a maze for rats and bureaucrats.
An SLS camera reveals skeletons dancing with their hats.
But then I see your face across a Chambord staircase,
But I don't need devices to illuminate the ethereal space.
a place where if, at the start, you pick the other path
I don't look for eerie orbs floating in the aftermath.
you will not meet again until the end.
I trust you are always just around the bend.
This is a koan in the throat,
The sound of your sighs, the shape of your coat,
the sprain of the game, the injury
the red-lit heartpod catching indominable energy
of the match. Defeat built into the cost of play,
in the flickering laser grid. The chandelier starts to sway.
where it is the vanquished who must be the clever and the brave.
Remarkable apparition that transcends the grave.