Dean Rader

VISITATION

The dead are at
my door again

like an ocean
without wave

or curve
without

the bullet holes
of the moon

It is the time
of the night

when the ghosts
arrive in their

little wagons
of bone

do they come
in search of

the not-yet-
forgotten

or do they
only seek

stillness
in the wake

of the nearly
remembered

what does
it matter

here in the
fire of the

shall never be?

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