ALL THE WAY DOWN THE LINE

yes, I have forgotten
you are dead
and I 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!"