I’m glad you said that
Because I have a sentence so long and so full of pent up information
I’m not sure I could get it out in one breath.
You said “eruption to our state” and I’m off, like a shot.
Like, I know what you mean
Because, man, it has already started.
These be WAR preparations, dontcha know, and not your average war preparations –
No, no, this is round the clock ramping up.
When the guys making the ships don’t get a day off,
You know something serious is afoot.
I mean, overtime for those guys ain’t cheap.
I see things, man,
I got a list.
I got evidence.
I just want some confirmation here.
Can somebody back me up?

I love this sentence.
I want to say it over and over again.
Thus twice before
That’s two times, two times thus
And jump at this dead hour:
An instruction?
A description?
This dead hour
This dead hour that makes us jump
Or he jumps
Or the hour jumps
The second hand has a heart attack
In the silence of an hour of the dead.
With martial stalk
As if a stalking movement weren’t enough
No, no, it must also be martial
To take one’s stalking to a warlike level
Is to take it to a mar
Shall
St
Alk
Hath
He gone by our watch
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
I want to dance to this bit
Do the martial stalk
And march
Or twist
Like the turning of a watch.

There sure are a lot of I’s in that question.
They sound different when spoken, of course
But just as a graphic representation. . .
I is popping out of all those one syllable words
Like the eyes in a face – ones with googli-ness
And large glasses that make them even bigger.
Marcellus is beating an I drum
I I I I I I
Or I guess
I I O I E I
But it does make me wonder what Marcellus has at stake
Does he take this ghost personally?

How does a ghost demonstrate offense?
Does he throw up his hands and say “Ach!”?
Does he open his mouth and gasp
Before stalking away?
In ghost stories, the kind wherein you can’t see them,
Just their antics,
They will slam doors
Or shut off lights, nay, flash them.
They will rock your bed
Bang your pots and pans
And walk the floor, making floorboards creak
When there’s no one home.
But how does one see offense in the ephemeral face
Of a phantom?
What helps a person read offense in a spirit face?
And what was said that would suggest it might be offended?
The mention of heaven?
Being charged to speak, when in life, this spirit could be commanded by no one?
Having one’s body addressed in lieu of one’s self?
Marcellus, how do you know?

Maybe if I say it one more time
Maybe last time he didn’t hear me
Maybe my words got swallowed up in the hollow of the night and vanished into nothingness
Maybe if I change the position of my head
Or if I say it directly in his ear
He will understand
Or if I make sure he’s looking at me this time
He’ll speak
I can’t insist
I can’t compel or entreat
So I will retreat.

There are those who seem to be able to talk with anyone.
The prime minister, the garbage man, the clerk at the shop.
With every person, the picture of diplomacy and charm
Ease rolls from his tongue
And he receives words as he delivers them
At his birthday, he gives eloquent thank yous
Before extinguishing his candles
When accepting awards, his words are instantly quotable
We turn to him in moments like these
When we know our own words will be inadequate
We know he can find some.

Over there
There
Once more
A ghost.
See
See
Do you
See
There?
Repetition
Hasn’t diminished
The hair-raising-ness
Of this
Entrance.
Once more
A ghost.
Everytime
We forget,
Try to deny
What we have seen
And felt
But lo,
Look.
Once more
A ghost.
Look.

The branch of your story, growing like a limb,
Arrest it.
Snap the wood;
Cut off the sap flowing to the ends of it
Pushing out leaves.
This thing developing must break
In the face of what is about to happen.
Close the gateway of air and swallow that next thought
You will need every bit of yourself for what is to come.

That’s how we see it, our daily, or nightly, task:
Watching the minutes
First one, then the next
Those who would join us
Must expect them to tick by
And summon up their utmost patience
Our friends do not come along, not usually
But we have entreated this royal friend
To sit by
And witness
And approve
And affirm
What we have seen.
He has a gift of words, too.
He will absolve us somehow
And be the bridge between this world and the next.
We watch the minutes
We do not speak to them.

Belief will shake you with its two arms
Before the night is through
You can resist it when delivered with words
You can push it away when it comes to you pleading
You could even wash it away when you drink it like wine
But before too long
It will be a body
Impassable
And solid
It will take your arms
And pin them to your sides
It will freeze your hair to your neck
Make your eyes bigger than you’ve ever felt them
It will happen so suddenly
It will no longer be a question of believing
It will be belief that you have no need to believe in
It will be a relief.