I saw a ghost when I was seven
wandering aimlessly
through scattered crowd
through withered grassland
through babbling brooks
through burning hearth
and humming fridge
drifting aimlessly
till it dissipated with the dying of night
Ghosts can be born at night and die in the dawn,
but I have to live these repeated days
My sorrow clings to me,
like an undead spirit,
for four thousand seven hundred and forty-eight days
I do not want to see the moon again
I just want to dissipate in the dawn.