by Pavel Chichikov
At times the dead can chatter through a voice
Familiar as a breathless 'whoof' when puzzled
Well known the intonation, pitch of someone lost
Sometimes in a dream they dress in yellow –
Yellow of the flower, of the pollen
Of the great and everlasting light
They wait beside the edges of the wood
Till night and sleep must fall, for out of time
They can be patient
They stand in rain especially
Not far away but visible, their faces clear
Untouchable but close
They wait within a borderland – they come
With light eternal shining out of them,
Their color is a place not far
And they are happy, they are not afraid
For there is nothing fearsome there –
These revenants are dressed in sunlight
Revenants not frightening or grim
They come in sleep unbidden with a blessing –
Out of deepest night there will be day
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
