walking with us,
risen from ashes, from graves,
risen out of rubble and wars,
the dead are risen,
walking on water,
flying above houses,
resting in our gardens
there is no way
without dead children,
without loss,
without pain
there is no way, no way
but with the dead
because they are never,
never, never dead
they live with us, in us,
around us, they hate
and they love, they
are lost and present,
enigma, riddle, guardian
and seducer in the maze
of pain and pain and pain.
the dead are risen.
when we embrace them,
we embrace life.
who will embrace us
if not the dead?
the ones living
are busy living, surviving,
they see death coming
and time running
they have no arms,
stuck in their life, poor
and naked, they cannot
embrace us as we are.
only the dead can,
only in us, inside.
all love is like
a small small light
in busy times,
for days, for hours,
for now, all else is
unreal construction,
Babel, dreams of design,
architecture, the throne
of arrogance, confusion,
ultimate loneliness.
no control, no pencil
to draw the path of pain,
of joy, cicadas, pine trees
and the scent of this one woman.
i , me, i gave up,
no more hopes, dreams,
just to let the dead be:
i cannot call them.
the dead are risen,
i kiss them,
i hope, i wish
they smile.
i will smile
and be silent
in my own time,
when i shall rise.
my time will come
as yours. not yet,
not yet, all is Babel,
all is moving, we sink,
first we sink.
