Who Are Your Dead

and what do their faces look like

in your memory, not in photos,

because your memory is where he was

mysterious and she

was beautiful and

isn’t that best?

You know we carry them,

too, like extra layers of clothing

barely perceptible but weighting

us still.

And if anyone ever asks you

what the time is at

the bottom of nothing, realign

your watch so that it only ever

reads one time.

Have we told you that we are

a train stuck in the middle

of a tunnel and whistling

both past and towards us

are the ones we have left?

Ask us now

who are our living

and we will tell you

they are mysterious

and beautiful and

just like you always passing

us so close.

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