Tomorrow morning, I will be your
      ghost again
            breathing salt into the
    wounds God left you healing.

                    Refection of
a flame that gives mist
     and winglets paling, I have
        arms that give night to girls
I have saliva that rises any deadman.

    Solstice, when do
  the dawns stop chilling? When
                 does warmth grow?

    Winter has had enough,
checking into a glass motel room:
                                  break the floor
    and call on a waitress to pick
it back up.

             I watch you sterilized
   perceived the tip of the iceburg
                            like a gift –

you must be leaving, sir, and
           get better once again.
                 before God pulls you in
        white’s chilly, and the morning is.