GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS,

GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS

if I am a ghost now
demand music of me
open me up
like a grand piano

what were once organs,
flesh

now just keys
and wires

upon which
fingers which may
or may not be mine
have belonged to me

drifting from note to
note, chord
to chord

trying to tease out of
what I suspect may
well be a moment
a regular sonata

and you
drawn by that music
a ghost yourself
seem almost
as I catch
sight of you

inclined to remember
unless I am
quietly mistaken
sadly
all this for nothing

and now
whether either of us
existed
ever shared word
contingent space together

we must leave to
the world we
have forgotten
to decide
if it does believe