solid. My son never complains
he can’t walk through walls or people.
He dies only with wishes not to become
the shadow of a building or street furniture
recycling or public bin, lamppost, unwanted old sofa or bed.
Better to be people’s shadow as he leaves this world,
then find himself with skin, breath and blood
where before floated as air, as mist as we do.
Soon whatever he becomes in death
as his Dad and Mam we will move through him
and he may not even know we do so.
And if he does we will be ghosts to him.
Perhaps he’ll recall his time as a ghost.
