By the Hands of a Ghost

By the hands of a ghost
there was a procuration lost
in a mild explosion soaring
off the surface of the sun.
Home since then has become
a dark idea in revolution,
hand designed by the flares
licking the spaces
between void and matter;
hydrogen wealth, living alone
in its slight of chance,
with its impossibility and charity.

This immense candle,
it taps the surface of life
like the pulse of a snare
entrapped in its own primordial cast
like the long distance runner,
not unlike a host of insects
trudging against death and time,
and losing all their wares to certainty.
Maybe after everything has long past
you also may turn red face
at your used form exhausted
and pull the vast starry sheets overhead.