I draw the ghosts from the earth
and the brittle bricks still holding
lodged projectiles from distant cannon.
Their swords become solid only at night,
when the cemetery gates are closed.
Only when the light no longer reflects
have they frozen and revealed geometric perfection.
Only water that has frozen
can bear any shape.
Although I had opened the iron latch
their metaphysical beauty
caused eyes to evolve to a fertile green
and brought my flesh to flatten
against the hard ground
of a gaped wood floor,
assembled by buried bones and dust,
yet aethereally more complete
than the modern tile filled with polymer sealant.
I am swimming in the aether
without armor, and without a shield
but with no gap
between what is untouchable
in the broad daylight.
-Robert L. Jackson III