March 4, 2015


Blind with grief,
we cannot see
what the dead
have come to know,
nor do they mourn
our loss, like we
mourn theirs,
as they're busy
preparing to return
from where they came,
getting used
to no longer speaking
earthly names;
nor do they still share
our cares and fears,
but see us clearly
standing nearby,
though they try
not to reach out
and touch us,
knowing the damage
they might do,
in revealing
they're not yet
fully gone,
but sometimes still
can be seen
waiting, as we all
inch closer and closer,
toward the rest
we're going to.