Remember those days:
Laced with angel hair and
Shards of glass 
The smell of synthetic cinnamon
Candles in the fire place
And it was all about the wait
Anticipation met with
Pine needles gathering
Shiny wrapping paper
Hanging ornaments like
Toys with narratives
Songs sung into canon
Carved into this
Melting pot culture
And the best memories were not
A present
But the gift of time.

My photo albums feed
Online obituaries.
And my yearbook is full
Of platitudes and prayers
I no longer believe.

Faces flicker in the dark,
The light never catching fully.
Synapses firing through caverns.
Memories etched on cave walls.
A smile -
A laugh:
The perfect epitaph.
But I don't know them
And they don't know me
Not really.
Not any more.

It is easier to post
Celebrity obits
On social media
Than to know what words to use
To grieve these ghosts.

We flip through images,
Waiting for them to come back,
Wondering if they already did.
These ghosts have been gone.
Memories buried in these graves.
Long before death.

Laughter rumbles deep,
From within became without,
Joyful as we weep.