All adults are ghosts

drained of innocence

as if the weather has fogged it out


we can only ever experience innocence and beauty by proxy


all the sunsets must be snapped

all the jokes must be snapped


once, there were children who owned four fruits: innocence, sweetness, awe and wonder

it's always the children who own it

the only capital that can’t be seized


is puberty the natural and slow circumcision of innocence


when ghosts plant orchards

the water seeps down

the water seeps down past

foundation we know it


and knowing it won't allow us present oblivion

being present and absent at the same time the only true paradox we could ever wish upon ourselves.

 

 you give it a name


all adults are ghosts

drained of child.water

as if the weather has fogged it out


these ghosts especially:

the sunsets sans-clouds

the river beds unbedded each night

the time I kissed a girl and

was slowly circumcised by the ocean waves.


when ghosts plant their orchards

water seeps down.past their orchards and

the non.ghosts with their loose lips

eat drippy fruit: a spilled glass of water .

a squirt gun . a tiny pool . a drinking fountain

with spit . a rocked skipped to plunging .

a floating paradox we wish upon ourselves.