This is the ordinariness of life:
Being born, having a name, a father, a mother
Feeding, excreting, love
Loss, loss of status, attention
Childhood, adolescence, occupying a body
Falling out of love with self, love
Household, enterprise, submission
Struggle, victory, wishing for defeat
Loss, grief, disappearance.
In all this, what, then, is death?
A way, a continuum, a warp, an interstice?
A breathlessness, a conversation stopped,
A falling off, a falling away
An emptiness, a blank space.
This is the ordinariness of days
Study, joy, being with children
Buying, selling, love, good deeds
The evil in you, the evil in us
At night calling a name.
Finding/ not finding the other
Whose otherness absorbs our own
In erotic allusion or work
And things out of the ordinary
It may not be much
But a day we remember a dead friend
Is not completely lost ( a gesture
A word) better not to snub
An ordinary ghost.