the ghost of you. 12:42p. 8 may, 2019

i look over at the ghost of you
i can see you clear as day
never from this perspective before
the hammock came after you died.

i can see you in your blue hawaiian shirt
the lighter bits matching your eyes
i can see the shape of you at the grill
hear the click click of the tongs
  as you turn the meat
the ice in your glass as you sip your drink
the smell of cooking food
the sounds of the mechanics of the grill.

i want to invite you to share my hammock
to feel it bow beneath our combined weight
to feel your body next to mine again.

Knowing you would be appalled at the thought
  of my feet near your head but
  physics outweigh preference.

i sigh, and smile
imagining our continued negotiations
that have outlived you.

a notebook open to the page where I wrote this piece.