The dead come to call

teach me their magic

I can’t hear voices

only gauge smiles

on younger faces.

The dead visit dreams

impart their Shaman

wisdom:

I attempt invisibility,

disappear badly

flap my extremities.

The dead cannot see

this level of insanity

we inhabit.

Hemmed in,

shut down,

cancelled.

You paint

empty corners

where sunlight

spikes the shadows.

Who am I

to understand

your truth?

You nightly

hide in dreams,

my child:

at least

you were

now grown

in beauty.

We talk

In whispers

aeons

separate & rent

our structure.

You hide:

an enigma

to me.

Your cells

still circulate

my blood,

& yet

like mountain

peaks we watch

but never cross

the ether.