The dead are with us now
Who will, in five years or ten,
See time swallow up the universe.
They can still enjoy a Summer wren,
Become enchanted as green sparks of Spring
Ignite the verdancy of Summer,
Sniff Autumn smokes, catch the sting
Of frozen air when snow dusts out of clouds.
Their lives fly high with us like sunlit kites
That glitter at the end of string,
Still tug our lives with theirs.
Now is the time to exchange a thought,
Investigate a dangling query.
Time cannot be sold or bought.
Our limits are not just theory.
We hold the present time in common hands.
It is this mutuality that saves.
Never mind the flowers on the graves.