In the night-lonely diners, I heard a voice.
Can you stop it, the missing?
            The missing that sneaks up
            behind you with soft breathing?

And I responded, Yes, of course.
By not being born, or else by dying
            before your heart makes attachments.
And what hours you have will be empty. 

Standing at the gravesides, they asked me.
How do you forget the missed ones
            that tap on your shoulder and slide
            out of sight when you turn your head? 

And I told them as the clods fell, Easy.
Give your life to someone immortal,
            to something time will not destroy.
And they’ll still be in the corner of your eye. 

Waking in the morning, their tears begged,
How do we appease these ghosts
            that come to talk to us in our dreams
            after dancing at the foot of sleep? 

And I answered, Let your tears come free
Then tell your children all your memories,
            and teach them to tell their children.
Make your thoughts of the missing glad tales.