It may seem ghoulish to some
to walk my neighborhood cemetery
the day before the day before
the day of the dead,
but I like to pay my respects
to the souls of the ones buried
and interred here as I walk,
trying to name all my beloved dead.
The list gets longer each year, of course,
the price of living, as I compare the ages
on so many headstones to my own
or to those who have recently died.
Too soon, I think, of the one who left recently at 79.
Good run, I think, of the one who floated into mystery
last year at 93 and almost a half.
As if it’s up to me. As if it’s up to any of us.
The little ghost hanging from a tree in the cemetery
seems a little on the nose, but really,
what better place to think of those
who haunt us mostly for the good?
Güd wrtr 
You may count among those you honor my son, whom we lost on October 20th at the young age of 45. He had a singular sense of humor and I feel certain would’ve appreciated the ghost in the tree. As he often said, ain’t none of us gettin’ outta here alive.
Oh, Terry, I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. You had said that he was not doing well, and I will think of your son on my walks, during meditations and prayers… and you, along with the rest of those who loved him, too. Sending much love to you.