Letter to Freud

Dear Professor: Your ashes in the grecian urn,

courtesy Marie Bonaparte, bear

no autograph. They could be Jung's,

Ferenczi's, particles lacking Lust-Unlust,

rising from your signature cigar.

Your absence compels an image. You will be sighted,

not Elvis Presley-like driving a white Cadillac,

but meditating in your book-lined study

on Berggasse 19, with Horus, Isis, Aphrodite,

and all the other goddesses