A bluebird whispers
of a ghost’s impending death,
and you might wonder
how the dead can die again.

But it’s never been easy for a ghost to survive this world,
buoyed by the memories of few,
sustained by hopes that some will recognize it,
clinging to a belief that it still has important work to do,
words to share.

That bird’s tweets are never wrong,
as if they amplify the truths emanating
from our very own mouths—
yet the bird knows nothing
about the determination of our spirits.

For that which is dead
can surely die again,
but it may also revive one day,
rising like a glowing apparition
lit up by a thousand voices.