To Caspar,  
 
I think you asked for this over dinner.  
Ghost buds for twenty-first century renos in a whole range of sentiments.  
No chance, astrophysicist. 
 
So you get it now, assigning ghosts to our planet to feel cathartic  
is dimensionally impossible. You’re dull. Rather uneducated.  
You’re all shine and velocity for us, the living!  
Sap is flowing, Caspar, top gear, top speed.   
 
Grab a sawhorse.