Can they see us? (poem)

 K. Cronick

Can they see us?

Do they breathe

some kind of air?

Is it a question of

their souls up there

or do they roam

down here below?

Are they everywhere,

or here nearby?

Are they made of light?

Are they the energy of love?

Are they now free?

In the end,

and then at last,

we have to ask,

can they see

our little children grow?

Do they see us

kissing them in bed

to sleep at night?

Are they the bright

reflections that we see

in a darkened glass?

Or are they shining duplications

of our own deep penury?

Most certainly they care,

they send us rainbows,

and comfort for our griefs.

And they know we’re here.

When in the end,

when I am one of them,

will we embrace

our light-filled forms,

and will I have the nerve

to whisper through the mist

to say the words,

that those still-living

need to hear,

as they have done with me?