I hover a little outside my body
All day and night.
Not like a gimicky cartoon ghost
waiting to get back in
But Alive, actually.

My body is alive, too
pretty much unsupervised
It starts with a memory
of our old house,
leaves on the trees
turning before a storm
A child’s legs,
my legs or yours? 
It ends with me-part of me-,
up there in some weird orbit, 
giving up and coming down.