Saturday, November 23, 2013

Immortality 3

...and someday I will 
become a forgotten 
memory, archived 
in tombstones with 
reluctant lilies squinting
in the murmur of the sun,
their desire to kiss
the wind, where ashes 
float from the last 
remembered hands.

When the pages of 
the calendar turn, the 
rain announces another
year of my return in the 
cracks of the old home
where the child in the 
picture refuses to grow. 

Another song will bid the 
year good bye to the 
dead, another repetition 
awaits the living.  

There is no memory in the wind

I taste the solitude. 
It's a house with 
many doors, none 
a paean of the
memory you so 
dutifully preserved. 
It's cold, the verses 
have gone silent; the
frost in the wind 
settles reluctantly
on tired lips. 
The air sweating 
time like mist on 
closed windows. How 
long will we brush 
the dust of silence
under the duvet? 
How long the dream 
be our sole memory? 
The smile I adorned 
was a stolen dream. The 
shoes have been discarded, 
the dust wiped out clean. 
The vagabonds of years 
past return home, the 
memory a deep 
longing;searching for 
places to hide.