if there are ghosts, they curse me
for my verbose blasphemy  
for the tales I tell of their fleeting flesh
when they stood beside me
in the killing fields
committed the same sanctified acts
loved the same women  
read the same eternal true lies
I take from them
something I did not earn
if there be spirits
in this ether of silent white noise  
they are haunted by me,
more than I by them  
for I still live with my feet on the ground
trampling their powdered bones with every step
with every word I utter
about their timeless time
I prove I am a thief  
in this holy night, if there be ghosts  
my lies do not fool them