Remembrance in a time of pandemic

In attic high and storeroom dark

in drawers, trunks, chests and boxes

old letters rustle like dry leaves

the moving hand, long still, writes again

Photographs, yellowed, long forgotten

emerge to light once more

faces once warm, eyes then alight with life

return our pensive gaze

At this time of waning moon

in the season of slanting sun

autumn and the lengthening dark

we hear the faint, lost voices

more within than without, yet

audible in our dreams they speak

reach out to us, come closer

whispering enigmas

Let them haunt us

welcome them in

listen to these messengers

soul guides, spirit teachers

This haunting is our heritage

remembrance the only cord

binding living hearts to spirit

from whence we come

and where we must all return

© glmagill 2014