Their names into the wilderness, in our vanity and
Anguish, to summon them from the ether, or to
Startle them from the underbrush, where they
Have no business hiding? I’d ask another way.
Did the ancestors know that we would whisper
Their names into the ocean curls at dusk or soon
After, when the blue water gives way to the void,
Cold and black, but still as noisy and full of mystery?
They held us as babes, you know, when we lived only
In the moment, and when joy and misery alternated
So easily, like light switches, like radio dials. To them
We are eternal toddlers, or forever within ages five and
Thirteen. Maybe up to twenty. So you think time and
Heaven work that way, do you? How quaint.
Why did you shout the ancestor’s name into the
Wilderness, instead of mine, as you usually do?
I am not entirely sure. Maybe because of the new
Life that has arrived to replace us. There, that’s a
Good reason. You see, I explained it. Well, you