I knew a man once—an air
traffic controller
by day—who believed
the dead could be shivered into
being
through him.
His name was Frank
(the name alone
made the trance
that shook him awake
seem more true).
He opened
like a trumpet
flower filling with dew:
the dew
of the dead.
Susan Kelly-Dewitt | Think of the Highways Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)