without edges

i believe in the ghostly
but not in the ghosts
the little peculiar particulars
with vaporous edges and definitions

interesting, those who know with certainty of one god,
countless angels
and even less countable souls
when my little arrangement arrays in reverse
particular infinites with peculiar edges
over an open sea of illusive breath

and like that breath breathed by particulars
uncountable once breathed
we mingle ghosts without edges
no angels, just angelic
a bleary softened shade of soul
an eternal fluid both older and more youthful,
the ichor in all our veins

i’ve laid my eyes on this bright blur,
and slid a finger into the current,
i’ve soaked my aching lips
i’ve known the bacchanal of angels,
the sensual flailing of indescriminate limbs,
the libertine indulgence of that without edges,
and i know

i know the more i see
the closer i get
the brighter and blurrier it all becomes