The Invisibles

Walking I became aware,
there they were,
everywhere.

Bands, legions, lines:
arm to arm,
the invisible ones.

A thousand moons,
ten thousand sons—
a strange comfort,
I wasn’t the only one.

Monochrome,
the shades are there
but few can see:
they float in on the gray,
undetected by you and me
until loss shocks us
out of rigidity.

What lies between
is just a membrane,
a pale sheath to peel.

Traverse the lane
among the invisibles,
ever palpable, ever present.
Once polarities relent,
no sweeter hour was ever spent
than walking in the gray.

Claire Juno, © 2012

…written in remembrance of a brother.

For Day of the Dead, when boundaries soften between life and death.

Advertisements