You are not a ghost

Dear Precious, you are not a ghost, though you have walked through walls
I had thought impenetrable, past vast echoing ancient halls
built inside my heart, so lonely, so alone and howling there
in that room where no one saw me. I was never so aware
that there might be hope here, Darling, you could sit and listen, then
grab my hand and walk now with me to a newly aching land.
You are not a ghost, my Dearest, though your Spirit touches mine,
for your fingers, topped with skin so brown and bruised, now intertwine,
and I feel them solid. Firmness due to muscles, bones, and blood
where this dust road stings our eyes that drip the trailhead into mud.
Let us weep and go together, for the dream we love the most
could not exist if you were so invisibly a ghost.