Growing up I thought that ghosts lived in our basement
Ghosts usually appear in attics or spare rooms
But I slept in the attic so it made more sense
That the sputtering sounds of a water heater
And the hazy hiss of the dryer exhaust vent
Were the immaterial echoes of spectral
Bodies burdened by the dark and gravelly loam
And Devonian fossils dropped eons ago
Which kept the basement musty cool throughout the year
That space of connection and of disconnection
That snagged my attention late at night like a net
That dingy dusty dark below which marked my mind
And I felt my body melt even as eyesight
Sometimes melts in the formless confusion of night
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