Pooka by Mari Fitzpatrick

Franz Bretano said that the categorical
proposition that 'all men are mortal'
has the same meaning as the existential
proposition that 'an immortal man does not exist.'

But what is it to be
and who are those beings that pause
on a point outside time
as the sun goes down on Hallow's Eve
and fire holds the dark at bay
when Pooka lurks shape shifting
between sun down and sun rise?
It's a dire fear that beats my heart
as I feel ghosts fuse the night
and life's circle becomes a line
sweeping into my future.
Then I question the existence
of the dream I live and I ponder;
is it our own that comes back
to raise a glass in the knowledge
that they have found somewhere better
and Pooka is warning me to stay and play
and pay my dues?

-- 2006, Marie Fitzpatrick

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