I wonder why the dead only
Pass through my bedroom
Goosebumping my exposed arm,
When I'm alone.

It's as if they won't disturb us, or
Know they'd startle her a lot more
Than they do me.
They're as unsensational to me as

Any gust of wind; falling stars
Leaving temporary tails on the night
Skies like salamanders escaping the
Grasp of a hungry atmosphere.

Faceless footsteps, doors opening,
Invisible tenants at times nudging  
Me awake, whispering wordlessly:
Did you blow out that last candle,

Young man?
Creaking walls, blinking lights.
I welcome them with warm
Sincerity. Dead or alive,

A fleeting mist in an old room
Or flesh and blood speaking only
Of times long gone over lukewarm
Tea; I always respect my elders.