I’m copying down my memories.
Old visions are not all good ones.
The spring sunlight that warms my fingers
also falls across today’s empty bed.
Between the window’s outside and inside
a fragment of the world is suspended.
As I reach to touch it
the beautiful thing gallops away.
I keep gazing at everything.
My heart reluctantly whispers
but love hushes it.
Today returns;
yesterday is a blur;
I can’t imagine the shape of tomorrow.
memoryhouse 