i am hopelessly enchanted with the ghosts
hiding in the attic, the dilapidated dust-mite
covered picture frames, and the plastic worn dolls
wearing their frilly dresses. the things that are
endlessly fascinating that wash me offshore, i
battle currents to find them. i am humbling,
yet i have a strong lack of courage. the words
i want to say become dust mites, float away
into the air, and meet another mouth distant
from mine. the attic becomes an abandoned
studio, where the beautiful things lie alone.
my hands yearn to meet with the ghosts.

- kra