Why we come back is as vague as why we
picked out our lovers: “A bodiless voice

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.