The Tune

Leaves are falling once more. Remembrance is trickling and passing across a respectful but not inevitable thresh-hold. Not today please, I’m not ready so soon. I can hear the sounds of my memory song although the words have faded. Time clocks up the price and the cost – like memories, become dearer. Others impose their versions And twist and reshape the truths Until the recollections are infested. I’m still panning and filtering through the precious dust. If I’m being too self-assured, believing That the flavours were once truly complimentary, It’s only because I can’t taste them anymore. Incandescence and essences drain away like rain. What was the light like? Imagination and reminders play tricks. These are distant, sacred things that deserve respect. Hidden from view, the roots are rusting. Breezy, lapping drowsy reoccurring pains and pleasures that fray and trace and entertain me with pretentious style. Like storing breath in invisible vessels. Can you remember the last snow? When have we ever really found time? Locked in little corpuscular prisms, Soundless pumping, slipping away like lost stitches. Some sort of emotional rescue from imagination, A colossal void filled to overflow. Racing thoughts competing in patterns And linking in reverse Shining little mirages So arresting in front of my eyes, Coaxing me to play inside. Another reunion with my beloved father Come back and delight me again. Awaken me with secret nudges. Covertly I’ll feed from the contentment While we hum along to the tune.