ghosts pass through us all the time
like subatomic particles which only rarely hit one of our particles
(from their perspective, we are only slightly less empty than the night air)
as some stones crumble under the weight of the stones they support
eventually new stones appear to replace them
a wall of memories
a wall being built with every thought
even dream thoughts
in this space behind closed eyes
I recall it all like I would remember taking a photograph
a memory of memories
layers, sediments, residues, fossils
the existence of life in thoughts
a door opens
and then it ends
there are no more details, everything that is able to be unhidden has been released
the fog is thickening
in the forest, everything goes back to sleep

where do they dream?
we make ghosts

we make ghosts



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