Being and Becoming Exegesis

I am becoming a ghost if it is possible
to become what I have always been.
I can tell. My arms had drifted off
some weeks ago, three weeks at least,
and my stomach gone for quite a time
but now, tonight, walking from your house
at two A.M., I felt my feet evaporate
and knew the truth. I am becoming
a ghost. A no-footed haunter. Spooks
will be my intimates, my grim consolers,
and I will find my truest self. Person
to person. But that will have to wait.
Right now I am in process. Once the legs
have gone, the head, the stupid torso,
once the heart has whisked along the street
as soot or ashes or a nuisance in the eye,
I shall desist. I shall be the ghost I am.
But you, alchemist, I shall forget you never.
All your plants have grown
and flowered and the fruit,
though hard and a little bitter,
has kept you rich.
You spend
yourself only on important
enterprises where the profit
will be certain. You have time
for everyone provided they have
reason. You have never been
foolish in love, never failed.
Your orchards thud all summer
with the sound of quinces falling,
your corn is late when prices
are the highest; all your plants
have grown.
Dear Brother in Christ
I am thirty-three and bury you
who are thirty-four because alive
and talking, talking, you are dead.
Your fields are ripe for harvest.