The biography of a spirit

When the moon dies, it'll come back as a flashlight

Silver Moon, Sarah Wright (2002)

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The biography of a spirit

by Bob Hicok

In another life I was a weed, a grocery list. 
A crescent wrench or crescent moon. A fall 
up a ladder. The diary of a dog 
written in urine. A song sung once 
from a mountain to a different mountain 
across a valley that turned to listen.
I was me with smaller hands or you 
with better posture or a maitre de 
dressed in rain. A guard in Auschwitz? 
Many someones were. Everything that has happened 
happened for a reason, such as because. 
When the moon dies, it'll come back 
as a flashlight, then a scholar
of Ahas. There are moments, you know,
when it's best to cry harder or help someone
cry faster, deeper, like a trench
digging its way through their heart
to get to the other side of not knowing
what to do or say or how to lift
the coming tomorrows. Was I ever that person
or the kind of flower that knows 
when to knock on a door? 
In the future, I may be excellent 
or beautifully forgotten 
or beholden to a warlord 
who can't tie his shoes. I have one word 
for this possible life -- slip-ons -- 
and four words for anyone who decides 
to love me: good luck with that.