Gianna

Your star is coming home, it trails a police light, in gardens, you lie prone, whisper your love, on throwaway nights, your ravaged face a moon, like saints expose their bones, a song gets you tight, makes you drink alone, a balcony bright with doves, a learned moan cried, you pray to those above, fresh linen and eau de cologne, always makes them sigh, for those who are gone, you see every move, millions live and die, some of them in blood, luminous as a frozen stone, you stand to one side, let the ghosts pass through, they all know why.