Ghosts

My limbs break into the silence
a teacher talks spiritual li(n)es
in the distance a Kazakh radio is wind
transmitting
dreams of tomorrow's
nightmares
I can't believe my limbs
are part of me - and a painter weeps from excess
the oceanic marvel of love
which is an overused word
vanishes
into the sleep haze

I would draw beach huts
sun tents and
sand mirrors, I would
see a stratospheric lady of satori
letting go of
golden balloons
in the sunrays
I would
collect wind
into coffee cups
hearing it sing
of seashells, hey

oceanic marvel!
where is your teacher now
learning to write complicated scenarios
while life happens suddenly
over bridges of death
it weaves horrid blazes
rainbows waterfalls and seagulls

we light colored lanterns
and pour them into sky

sky
is breaking into the silence (with me)
and my limbs are rendered useless
by the new coming race
of
ghosts