Memory is a world
the sawing bow:
a violin strung with humans,
quiver with melody
and ache forth tears.
I am a world
I carry with me
dying a life
somewhere else
I am a memory.
a poem
frozen lipped and dead
the world is this woman
gorgeous, a keening wail
the wind kisses her hair
she is memory
and I the wind.
and walking back
to walk the slumbering walk
in this world someone killed
but vexes continually
the world is a gorgeous woman
frozen-lipped and dead
and the wind kisses her hair
like memory