Why do those that came before
haunt the spaces in between?
Between wakefulness and sleep
they speak to me
whispering fragments of the past
wrapped in shadow and tucked in tight spaces.
Why do they vex me so with visions?
Scenes of love and laughter
and the shining fragility of both.
Moments of pain and lessons of death.
The loss and betrayal, their calling cards.
They slip through the cracks
and ease past the thresholds,
paper dry but with nary a sound,
Gathering close to me
alleviating the feeling of alone
yet offering none of the comfort.
They smile down at their prodigy,
their progeny . . .
She is the masterpiece of their efforts
and she will always heed her masters.