you return to the house
 of ghosts
that have taken up
 residence in haunting

you wander into the backyard

you stand on each of the graves

of all of the people you have been

that you have laid down to rest

so long ago

you take a step closer

to the newly blossomed lilac tree

that you planted

on a day you were trying

hard not to be a ghost

the scent of beauty surrounds

everything
 and suddenly
death
 is not death

but an underwater birth

where drowning is blooming

and breathing is drowning

you pluck a lilac

you bring it home

you put it in a vase

and you smell it
until you can’t 
anymore.