Talking To The Dead
When I talk to the dead
I can say things I couldn’t say
while they were still alive
Though I might begin
with “This may shock you, but”
When I listen to the dead
their words prove true
in the way things work out
in the way things are
though I might have resisted
in the long ago
As I live with the dearly departed
in a rusting wrench, a cycling brooch
or some monochrome picnic scene
their loving company beams
within my innermost,
superheated flash of loving pride
They play along
as I play their tunes
their voices discuss decisions
and praise my efforts
and comfort my dis-ease
These but shadows are too firm
for idle dismissal
or diverted dream
Their outcomes beat on beyond
those last breaths as I held their hands
Outliving flesh
outliving progress
outliving futures that are but
ghosts against the inevitable
we listen and we learn
when the dead talk to us