We pass through death quietly,
Slipping like ghosts at a party,
Haunting the spaces that carry
Our smells like second skins...
Sideway glances in a crowd,
The sound of laughter receding,
Entering the cool darkness of the air
On the other side, imagined relief,
A new beginning, or respite
From weathered selves?
The train passes. Let it go.
Another will come. You wait.
You listen into the tunnel:
Fluorescent light on white tiles,
And a faint hum...
The story continues. The world
Never fails a beat. You want it to
Notice the absence. But it churns
Beings like dust, lives like smoke,
And hurtles on...
Someone will notice. Someone will choke.
Someone will face the night alone tonight.
Reaching an arm across an empty bed,
Someone will feel the cold of the sheets.
Absence will resonate somewhere,
Will echo, and rage, and plunder...
Facing the night, with the knowledge
Of life elsewhere, undeterred--
You hold your silence,
You face your absence--
This once you will not look away.
It is here. And you are ready.