As I sit in darkness
trying to listen to the silence
my head fills up with sounds
in another life, understandable.
Memory-
it is a long reel of rope
knotty and fraying
very old, but oh so strong.
Its is an eternal march of forms
that change with the music
into soldiers and thieves
and lovers and children.
It is a seed that grows
where nothing else will go
its flower is the yesterday
with tomorrow in her womb.
I am bleeding from a wound-
it was always there
it will never heal
it is not mine to care.
Tonight I will go gardening
and plant me some dreams
-these are my hopes-
I will watch their flesh fall away
and their skeletons become
who I am when in darkness,
who I see when there should be no one.
