“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)