Saturday, November 17, 2007

New Poem: Memory


Some of us are born
Looking backward, fallen
Leaves in our hands,
Walking past the jugglers
As though the fall is
Inevitable, balls on the ground

Photographs pale at the edges,
Stilled moments without context,
But in the simple scenes
We find meaning, insight
Into the fragile bones
Carrying all this weight

We wear grief as a fine garment,
Aware of the suffering felt
By those already at rest,
But there is no real rest,
Only broken windows, memories
Of a time when we did not wear flesh

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