I see dead people.
They come to me during daytime,
and stay with me at night.
In the morning,
they watch me
as I drink my coffee,
and sit beside me in the car
on the way to work.
Today, I was stopped at a red light,
and one of them
spoke to me
in a haunting voice,
filled with emotion,
and softly reminded me
of my own demise.
I am confident
that ghosts are imagination figments,
slipping in and out of hazy smoke;
but, as real as the memories
that conjure them,
and populating parts of my brain
that no one but I can see.
When I get to my work,
I am surrounded by the images
of my dead,
hanging on the walls,
and waiting for other dead people
to join the party.
When I see the dead,
I am conscious that I am alive,
and never more alive
than when I allow them
to accompany me on the journey
to the picture on the wall.
Maybe tomorrow I will try to see
if those who are alive
will join me,
and we can hang on the office wall
together.
