Whatever they are, I’m sending them your way,
right now, eyes closed for better aim,
a micro-meter sub-atomic process, plucked and
strummed, almost music from me to you.
This isn’t spectral stuff I’m talking about,
no toe-tapping, table-thumping Ouija-board
carnival antics, no gaseous product
of radioactive disintegration.
I ignore the woodpecker boring
another hole in the clapboard siding,
the tea kettle’s whimper, the phone’s ring.
I concentrate on you, the last images
of you growing dim, you in the hallway,
putting on your coat, the car’s brake lights flashing
red red red and then you’re gone,
but not me, I’m transmigrating those vibes,
a virtual palindrome the reads good
either way you look.