We balance on the concrete around the pool,
We take our plastic light-up chalices
And toast. Some ghosts live as reflections
At the bottom of the water.
Sometimes one cup of exorcism
Is simply not enough.
A new warm light clasped between my hands
Spills onto my lap before the wine
And between the crack in my lips,
Tight from holding back a smile.
But when you excuse yourself and walk away
And a smaller ghost gets carried away,
Maybe the reflection should have been more feared.
Maybe what was forgotten is forgetfully near.
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