There are some people who exist only in memory
Only within inner space
Turning and turning on the same spot
To face you in daylight
Then disappearing into darkness
Flickering sometimes in dreams
Always on the edges of consciousness
Asking not to be blotted out
Beckoning for home
But who is it asking?
Who is it wanting?
And who is it that knows?
O the dead do not feel dead
And those who live must die daily
To let go