It goes on and on
Like the distance between two sparrows, mid flight
Their whit dispersed to the land below
Their wings, ephemera and fleeting
When I take you into the cave of my hands
I can slowly peek inside
This dispirited and transient memory
is taken in by short and rounded breaths
Where it belongs,
Is underground
Where there is always a portal to another place
Where the voices are low and travel just on the upper layers of the skin
advocating for themselves
like the algal blooms rising and desperate to be seen
among the freshness of the water
Here in this place
we seek clarity in the cloud of memories
Here in this place
we divide our truths between the grains of sand
And in the course of time
They’ll become the stars
Easily touched in this
broken
twilight
land
Free to you, free to anyone
Willing to submit their tastebuds
To the sea
found in the air, mostly
At every turn you make a memory
invisible shrines left
By the millions of muted souls
On the cobblestone streets
fleeting
fleeting
memory
Nostalgia is quite like a
Nostalgia is quite like a grain of sand isn't it? How something so light can be so heavy, I will never know. Amazing write. I am so happy that you still write.
Whatever brought you to the writing of this poem.... I do hope the fleeting memory at least brings a smile or two.
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.