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Poem
a ball is stuck in rafters by a pool waiting
as long as I have been coming
   for 7 years on tender hooks as clouds drift by
        as the drums of time roll and roll
watchful for the person whose air it cradles 
an unknown essence left behind and never considered
          like a pebble shining in the gloom ...
are there places with pieces of me
unknown lost pieces, perhaps seen and felt
   weathered-stained and expecting
my presence still lingering  ... suspended
         out of sight
                     gently recalled ... sometimes
pieces of me lost in a sea of nameless faces, unnoticed
      my lost pieces just shadows on the wall of time
               I remember though I never return
and an encounter with a long ago friend
who holds pieces of me within a memory
                       an item
                          something I said
                              a dance ... embodied
    I want to ask who was I in that moment 
was I more than air breathed ... a breath gliding
oh, why do people smile when holding a thing
          that opens the curtain of memory
that link to the forgotten past and the pieces of me
               that tumble in time like a leaf-strewn
   in a gale that utters low wails like a violin
I am the breath, the heart of those memories
      those are the pieces of me, I existed


Original poem by Dilly Dally before editing...

There's a beach ball stuck in the rafters of the pool, It's been there for the 7 years I've been coming here, It contains air from the lungs of an unknown person, an essence that rests here though they left and likely never consider the fact, I wonder all the places I've left pieces of me, Caught sight of but unknown, Known but not seen, Recalled gently, Where my presence never left a place but I never returned, Sometimes I encounter it with a long lost friend who has a memory or an item I made, a saying or dance I embodied that they kept somehow, There are some people I'd like to ask - who was I in that moment of my life when we passed I hope those fragments are more than the air I breathed on an unremembered day, And are the reason people smile and hold an item in their hands to conjure back like I do on occasion, Small links of the unforgotten, That piece me together as someone who existed.
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