The Flitting of the Dead
"This side, that side, shifting,
collating, the inspirations,
tide-like, ease in, sweep out,
between the foliations
of the mind, breathing or not;
one has only to learn how
to listen between the segmentation,"
the dead ones seek to explain all
as they flit around the very segments
they yearn to elaborate. I am
careful not to dismiss any of these
oblique exhortations from the flimflam
layering, for dismissal only brings
on a renewed onslaught of obtuse
gestures toward the very topic
I would rest. "You know,"
the dead ones remind me, "how
the research must go on and on
to discern the two minds of the same
soul, foliated, collated like the act
of breathing passes new breath
with old, the benefit being
in the absorption." I can only
sigh and wonder if they would
make metaphor with this different
nuance of breath, this sigh.