Thursday, April 3, 2014


Talking to angels 
is useless. You never visit
anymore. I don't believe
the dead are angels.
Ghosts, maybe, hanging here,
or the ascended, never born again.

No new fantasies, no new dreams,
only memories. So I do understand.
You are not coming back 
in this lifetime.  Patience 
is pointless. You have gone ahead. 
I hope you remember me.

But I can't know that part,
I'm still here. Looking 
at the map. Wondering
will I be arrested in your old
front yard doing my letting go ritual
among someone else's lawn ornaments.


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