i met your ghost at the waiting area
outside the emergency room
you were sitting on the laps of
weeping mothers and the ghosts of
their children were sitting on yours

they said your touch would feel like bitter snow,
but delicate,
like the drizzle of glass shards
they said your kiss would feel like a collision,
like the reason so many of the casualties around me ended up in
the emergency room in the first place
they said you would make me feel like painting red roses white,
like stitching stars into the shape of your eyes

but your ghost stayed in the waiting area when they wheeled me to the yard
and so i'll never know if
ghosts can see humans too.