Collect These

A constant cycle of remembering and
un-remembering. Creation as a way of forming
new umbilical chords to once acknowledged truths.

Something I learned the year we lived together,
a day when the blocks were long with summer
and our destination loomed closely ahead.
The Ginkgo's had not yet begun to turn and I could have
found anything to be beautiful.

The yellow house was never about you or about anything.

I am afraid when I first realize
where something has come from and am reminded
that invention is only a clever game the brain plays
in hopes of convincing the body that
there can ever be a beginning and an end.

Swallowed in at the mercy of sudden triggers,
and then like nesting dolls folding in on themselves
indiscernibly and in unpredicted heart thumps.