Better Ghosts

I should know better by now.

I shouldn’t care. I can, if I concentrate, pretend it’s just a breeze.

These are just the ghosts.
The ghosts that spring up out of broken streets.
The ghosts that have faces like mirrors.
The ghosts that don’t know complete worlds,
let alone complete sentences.

She is a ghost too.
I’ve seen her wondering:
a white twig amid the grey buildings
with strands of gold that spring from her canopy.

I watched as she wondered from a safe net of forest
into the beautiful, broader territory;
a sprinkling of star on the nighttime snow.

If angels are queens,
she is the divine error that keeps order.
All I can do is watch.

She has foot steps that travel straight.
Her judgment is just-
a brusque dusting of a kiss in benevolent passing.

To know is to be better for it.