How do atheists turf their ghosts? Wispy girls, long gone, in their place, algorithms, aggregates, the trees were old back when we were young, how wise they will be when we have left this place.

Who will bear the children of the dead? Who will tell the grown man

How pretty, how young you looked in your operatic yukata, how many letters have been written for you, all for you

Careful, I say, careful.

measure out impossible prayers to a Most Evident God

As though they were

Leaves caught in the wind