When people die,
they change
their addresses
where postmen
go no more
and no one can
knock on the door
or make a call
and ask how
was their day.
And yet I believe
some of them
still somehow
find strange ways
for checking on
the living and keep
taps on them though
it’s hard to hear
and make up
what language
manages to cross
the great divide
or what one or
another forgot
to do or to say
on the other side.
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