Mired in ghosts.
Base of the spine a ghost.

Women comb and mumble in code
barricaded behind a petition of ghosts.

Asleep in a birdcage in a jazz-age hotel
turned veteran hospital—at ease, ghost.

Bitter jawbones and rope
in a tangle. Evidence ghosts.

Women convinced to float, the canal
a cradle, the heron a ghost.

At Galpo Nueve, a silk trapeze drifts
above strobes. Dancers drop ghosts.

Wear your most muscular smile. Don’t say
goodbye as you leave the party. Just ghost.