seeing is believing

Second Sight

My dead relatives see everything.

The snow falling on trees still clinging to their foliage.
The smoke of a bonfire disappearing into the night sky.
The curvature of a mother's spine.
The masturbating hand beneath a bed sheet.
The ripple of concentric circles where a swallow touches water.
The solar wind's erosive still scarring the moon.
The slow, unsensed clogging of the arteries.
The morning light through the broken slats of a dilapidated barn.
The misplaced memories of dementia.
The tree falling in a forest when no one is there to hear it.
The wilt of perennials from the first hard frost.
The coin's splash at the bottom of wishing well.
The cancer before it metastasizes inside the breast.
The skinned knees of a boy who has fallen off a bike.
The lunar phases of the antlered ungulate rut.
The vestigial tooth still waiting to drop into a gum line.
The birthday party on a beach for a red-haired woman.
The lovers holding hands in a darkened theater.

The children of their children's children.
The slight annual shift of magnetic north.

The elliptical path of Haley's Comet.

The red-tailed hawk riding thermals.

The name of a baby yet to be born.

The date of my death.
The face of God.

Everything.