From where the dead observe us
we know nothing; inhabitants
not of one undiscovered country,
but many; haunting somewhere
between the space-time continuum,
lodged in connecting sinapses:
speedy as light and light as a speck
of dust travelling up in the air,
Stop! In due course, we all belong
to such grey intimate society where
kinship is sawed off as sand
seeping down the hourglass.
We live by an invisible sun
and come to pass.