No Longer

I lost myself somewhere along
the road. My roots soured and
trimmed; my reach hobbled. I no
longer recognize reflection.

I forgot how to dance,
but I remember when I first
learned the steps; I don’t
remember how to speak the
tongue raised around me,
yet I can still understand
every word said. My house
hollowed with my rib cage.

I no longer chase sparrows;
I have no place to keep them.
I no longer chase you, although
it takes every muscle in my
thighs to stand this still.

I don’t see ghosts anymore
but I know they are still there.
I hear them in the drip
of the faucet late at night.
The one constant I know.