Although it no longer has a body
to cover out of a sense of decorum,
the ghost must still consider fashion—
must clothe its invisibility in something
if it is to "appear" in public.
Some traditional specters favor
the simple shroud—
a toga of ectoplasm
worn Isadora-Duncan-style
swirling around them.
While others opt for lightweight versions
of once familiar tee shirts and jeans.
Perhaps being thought-forms,
they can change their outfits instantly—
or if they were loved ones,
it is we who clothe them
like dolls from memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem