In dreams the dead visit.
I welcome their arrival—at times even courting them.
See you in my dreams, I whisper, trusting they will acquiesce.

They slip in quietly,
foisting themselves between
less memorable sleep shows.
Scenes change.
And they are with me.

James rarely speaks.
I chase after him without running or
quickening my step.
I hover.
He continues simply being;
As if I am the ghost in his dreams.

Ma dies repeatedly.
Oblivious to her mortality
she frets,
She refuses my tending,
dismisses my tears.

Awake as in dreams
The dead are with me.
I cherish their haunting
For it is all I have left.