How light their bearing on the other side of flesh;
how weightless their love.
The whispered endearment we almost hear;
the soft pardon of long-ago sins.
Peace be with you, they say.
It’s not ghosts who haunt us,
but corpses not yet rotted into grace,
blind and malodorous, loosing their longing,
sloughing their mortality,
shuffling toward heaven on fading feet.
Bless the dead
who carry you with them;
help them go. Pray them
safely home that they may return —
how light then, their bearing, how free —
to soothe your turbulent blood,
whisper the endearment you almost hear,
sing silently through your embodied nights:
Peace be with you, and love. Always love.
Pax vobiscum, et caritate. Semper amor.
Et cum spiritu tuo
As we shuffle to Winter Solstice
With a bright spot of the Great Conjuction