lament.

i send my orisons

to the ghosts, those of us

now free of our bones

and our muddy feet.

i pray they are

opaque enough 

to hold my pleas

in their ether as i watch 

them follow convention 

to float close to the scene

of their demise.

i ask for the mudane

i ask for the impossible 

i ask for my friends and relations

i ask simply to watch.

they tell me

"crush your eggshells, 

lest the devil finds you home."