Reclaiming soft whispers retrieved from sleeps repose –
The quick, the departed, melt together as one.
Voices from the shadows bring forth wisdom to share.
They know us well.
In this place there’s no cut off point for living flesh.
The dead enter the daylight sphere and voice remorse,
But love the same, if love they had for us in life.
‘And do not forget time; withering each season.’
We know it well.
They too had their love, their anguish and their pleasure.
We live our own allotted time of days and years.
And thus it is from liquid birth through flesh and bone–
From youth to those dried desiccated years outstretched.
We know them well.
Then the window starts to close, the living intrude.
The membrane is but transient, yet still retained
as the visions fade away to the heat of day.