Reading Letters (from Glen)

I come to exhume spirits,
go beyond ghosts to find you.
I sit at my desk and cold night air
stirs the curtain at the open window.
The street below is silent.

I am quiet too.
I do not want to wake the dead,
only look at them and hear their words again,
a dreamy melody among these folded sheets.
The papers rustle, a soft singing of angels.
I read until the singing ceases.
I hold and hug you and lay you down to sleep.