Q) Your Ghost

Your Ghost

[vanilla, cinnamon, honey, snow, incense,
anemones, the sea; washed wool, coconut,
blackberry leaves, orange oil, warm skin, tea]

I breathe you;
in purses of air, poacher's pockets
bursting with your deranging mist,

kangaroo pouches,
big, like the lining of last year's jacket,
swollen with receipts and movie stubs and tickets:

scraps for the shoebox.
I don't know if it's woven through my shirt or hair,
or just hanging in the air

in pale streaks; in particles, in threads;
you're elsewhere, but I'm caught on your scent,
punctured and pierced, snagged in your snare.