Ghost

I am in love with a ghost.
A specter of a man,
lost in shadow.
Breathless, suffocated,
he is but the blue lips of
doubt.
He hovers like dust
in sunlight:
my hand can but stir,
scatter and swirl;
my reaching but a breeze,
motion without touch.
The wistful condensations,
the aimless evaporations
in his clouded mind,
I can only glimpse
in the distant sky
behind his eyes.
He is the thread of smoke
left by incense;
the scent that
clings to me
by accident.