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Why we come back is as vague as why we
picked out our lovers: “A bodiless voice
told me to?” “Our Elysian chemistry?”
“I was unaware I had any choice
in the matter?” Only the ego talks
about free will. All I know is that I …
faded and then returned. With my nighthawk’s
vision, my vulturous faith, my magpie
song. I’m in the trees; but why I returned …
I don’t know. There are certain damn shadows
far too alive for death. I passed, unburned,
through the living with all their doomed egos.
There is no release, love, just lustful need
and dim echoes of how the soul can feed.
