Remembrance

Lift the veil of early hours
Look at the mirror
to see what you want
You see not what you need
You have to remember the instructions
which key, which book to open
The best songs once lodged in loneliness
rising with the first light
You are not a star that fell from the sky
But a stone picked from a dry riverbed
You are experiencing difficulty of change, fragmentation
13 dishes from the blackbirds to feed the masses
the song birds are gone, problems remained
You return to the room
sit next to someone in a lotus position
hearts beat in silence.

note: I finished reading Circe by Madeline Miller. Entertaining,flowing prose.

Drawing

I draw my childhood on my notebook
As far as my imagination can take
I was once a shepherd to five sheep
I watched them graze and sleep
I ate alone and slept on the grass
Then I went back to the city and school.
Field of hay flickers in my memory
A lingering kiss of time.

what was it

They walk the ruins

haunted by all the brokenness

for what was once there

Uncertainty

Remembering certain moments of elation of the afternoon
And not the whole idle expansion of the day
We walk towards the fountain expecting a cooling mist
It’s windy, we laugh as our hair and faces get wet
The changing detachment and tone in the photographs
Overhead a falcon practices its dives,
Hiding a new flying patterns and surprises
The day ends and we go our separate ways
Not knowing if there is a new day.

Soundless

Old age approaches threshold of innocence

easing it’s way for memory to slowly fade

soundless like a star falling from the sky

a swan in the river.

 

misplaced memory

A woman wearing a multicolored scarf
waits for her friend in the Flower Fields
on the wrong day.

photos: Flower Fields in Carlsbad,CA

sorrow

sorrow travels with crowd
releases its arrow
when you look back

In trying to remember

a plough stands in the yard
remnant of the old farm
my rusted mind

remembering

“Run and be free. 

Look both ways 

before crossing the street”.

My instincts 

but sometimes I forget.

I’m so absorbed

with Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

or when I’m in the middle

of a thousand projects

and I’m running

through “a maze

of twisting little passages”. 

It’s not all these things.

I have changed 

since the cherry blossoms.

When I see any flower

my memory of you returns.

 

who keeps the memory

Stars overwhelm the sky

with brightness.

Who will know the night

has one less star?

 

When I die

will my soul

keep the memory

of my love for you?