Quiet house, full of unquiet minds
The dead watch us while we sleep
Memorizing our faces, lost in dreams
Listening to the whirl of thoughts
So that when we come to meet them
They may greet us by our names
Stolen from our lips, thieves of secrets
Their feet fall in time with ours
Walking one step behind, or ahead
They whisper to us, tell us rhymes
Words that fall on deaf ears
The dead may speak, but can we hear?
Riddles, codes, mere muddled voices
The faintest of their pleas are fables
Are but the wind rustling the leaves
Their hands are but a breeze
Gentle caress across treasured skin
They may kiss, but do we truly feel?
Seeing just beyond our vision
They are but shadows in our eyes
Do we truly see the child at our side?
A woman kneeling at our beds?
The man weeping as we weep?
Tears that fall on our faces, the salt
They may be ours or perhaps another's
Falling as they kiss our brows for comfort
Do we taste them in the air?
On our lips, for on our skin they settle
There is jasmine on the wind
Do we smell them as we dream?
Clever trick of our minds
When they lean in to sing us lullabies
As they tell us, "All is well, my love."
Do we hear them?
The dead may love us as we live
Not envying our mortal skin and bones
But cherishing the breath upon our lips
They walk beside us, but do we feel them?

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