Hazy memories out of focus, raindrop smeared,
inhabited, revisited, altered by each access;
or a shock in time, seen once, new-needle fresh,
sparked by reverie or random intervention.

Is there authenticity; utility; a future place:

For fragile faded snapshot childhood moments?
Or chord sequences, embedded as identity emerged?
Or initiations, each reeling fumbling vivid first?
Or the perception that nothing’s out of reach?

Or infertile eggs, futile seeds of unresolved potential?
Or familiar old ideas that outlived their time?
Or curious reminders of turns not taken,
forks not followed, on an under-weighted path:

A shaky frame of hollow counter-facts?

Are they touchstones for family, kin and partners,
sharing lives and blood and blending DNA?
For our children who’ve grown wilful, standalone?
For the other vital people who informed each stage?

I knew many who now lie cold, bleached pale –
and few other threads have not been snapped
or lost in spreading time and welling tides of life,
links separated by exigency and not renewed –

And I ask, where are they now? And how?

While outside, above, windsped, hastened to oblivion,
sunlight’s shadow flits across the tower:
a fragment or a harbinger? Of a deeper storm,
lowering, looming, racking, darkening….


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