Familar Faces

A man saw his own funeral today.

“You are being prepared,” they told him.

Look upon the ghosts
how they drift to and fro,
living everywhere and nowhere.
I can not see them.

But they see me
in the glass prison.
They wave kindly,
greetings and farewell.

A friend.
Or phantom?
Puts his arm around my neck.

“It's okay,” he says.
All things are in their place,
all the precious things.

Darkness
Darkness

Down the winding path we go.
Terrible machine,
see it tear out the trees,
and all that is green

Silence
Nothing

Faint light,
I can see you.
That is you, right?

Clothed all in white,
there all along
in some way.

“It's me,” she says.

“So, it's all okay?” I ask
I tear rolls down my cheek.
I know.

All is well.

The dream is inside.

2-1-09