ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

Yes, I have forgotten
you

are dead
and turn to you:

"Did you see that?"

But Death has stolen
your eyes.

So you see
nothing.

Bits and pieces of you
vanishing day by day

as if you are being
erased.

I still cling onto
your smile.

Death
isn't having that.

And I am still
in possession of your voice.

It's tone
the slant of it

the heft of a syllable
a last few remaining phrases.

I still talk to you.
Ask your opinion.

"The red or the blue?"

Your ghost smiles
plays along with the charade.

I hear you say
( in my voice )

as if sound could be
forged

this counterfeit you.

"Oh the red...the red all the time
all the way down the line!"