The soul’s a sort of prankster.
It walks with you ostensibly to ease your angst or
lend a little light to your penumbral views
but really it’s got other news
that hasn’t much to do with who you think is you.
It doesn’t give a Frankish sou
for your lugubrious emotions –
or even the exuberant devotions
on occasion you contrive, sometimes survive.
The point for it and you is to become alive
beyond all reckoning.
Needs you for that job. That’s why it’s beckoning.