“Looking for truth but finding only memory.”
—Charles Bernstein
Not a storm
as much as
a ritual cleansing—
where bits of dream’s
detritus are
disentangled,
like branches snapped
and scattered
across the forest floor.
We tie twigs together
to bridge the days
across our broken night.
As delicate as a step
onto a stone
in a cold stream,
we wake into memory
flowing through
a metaphoric forest.
We pretend today’s
the same
as yesterday;
the stone
we stand upon
is dry;
the stream
is still
the stream;
that we can still be
all that we
might have been.
(May 26, 2023)
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