Summoning by Chris McDaniel

The Dead sing in the limbs of willow trees.
They come to windows,
Look in with eyes like Starlight,
And watch over our lives.

Your neighbor, the old man
Who kept vigil over the street,
Still watches over you,
An invisible spectator.

The Dead are in the shadows,
Dragging mud-caked wings
Through Labyrinthine alleys,
Protecting the lost and the lonely.

He says it was a young boy
Dressed in glowing white
Who dashed amongst the dark trees
And guided him back home.

The Dead dance amongst the dust,
That sparkles in the evening sun,
As their descendants explore forgotten places
And rediscover the past they share.

Can’t you feel Grandma close by
When you stand amongst the Stacks?
She makes sure all the books are neat
And that no one tumbles down those stairs.

The Dead long to draw life,
From the crystalline silence.
That’s what we say.
We want them to have that spark,
We want to return what was lost,
If only to feel the warmth
Of their arms around us,
One more time


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