To the Ghost

after Mary Szybist

But give me your silences,
and I will wear them on my clothes,

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the delicate remains of your tongue
clinging to this body, these limbs

you gave me to fruit the world.
Give me your absences, too,

and I will carry them, happily,
I will hang each emptiness

from these limbs, this body
you gave me to overcome.

So when the wind blows,
I will rattle back to you

something like praise.
So I will be the hand ringing

your ossuary of bells,
these skeletons you spoke to me,

these words I crush
in the hollow of my hand.

But give me your silences,/ and I will wear them on my clothes,

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