The Ghosts
Fixates the unknown lovers at the electronic conduit,
blind to each other, yet bonded by faith,
trawling the net with ethereal minds,
either, or both, may be phantom and wraith.
Subsisting on promises, slaves to the art,
the pen and the palette, keyboard and stone,
their natures anomalous, clandestinely carved,
collaborate egos, yet each one alone.
With respect for the disparate tempers they keep,
the physics of characters lost and then found;
they scratch for the nucleus kernel of soul,
unleashed ectoplasmically, sonic, unbound.
Dead or alive, of this world or some other,
ghosts in machines of uncertain design,
it cannot be known, a conundrum unsolved,
a figment of her mind, or she one of mine.
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