That Time of Day (Poetry)

It is that time of day when ghosts
slip from the shadows by the wall
and linger by my chair — breathe in my ear
as I sit dozing — balanced on the edge of sleep
imagining the years have somehow run
back the way they came — and I am young —
listening to those voices that I’ve missed
while faces half-remembered smile their way
into a whispered conversation — like a dream
but more than that — each visit is a gift —
proof they’ve not forgotten me but come
to reassure like only they can do
that time will pass — the decades fall away
and death will reunite us — one and all.