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Poem

Air silt memories 
Gathered on soil
Dirty heaps of fear and smiles, 
Rages and heartache. 
Burned to nothing, turned to nothing. 
Save this; 
This is mine- 
Cupped hands 
Hold you near me. 
This bit of flesh dust that is 
So much more, and so much less, 
Father. 
Embraced with weary hands. 
Dirt smudged, teary eyes. 
His flesh stained mine. 
I looked down through dust, 
Through hands, 
Through memory, 
Through years. 
 
A balmy night, gathered 'round 
Sparks and blazing.
Wood smoke clothing, 
Face burning,
Eyes stinging. 
A fire more for wonder, 
Than for warmth. 
I always loved fire. 
But fire never lasts, 
It burns and consumes, 
Till it devours itself. 
Utterly like and unlike 
The great worm of time. 
Is eternal destruction the 
Same as infinity? 
 
"Dreaming is the same as dwelling. 
The past is no more real than the future." 
His memory voice condemning. 
How can I not look back? 
Memory is all that keeps 
Him real, here with me. 
Makes this dust so much more 
Than filth, so much more 
Than a stain that the earth 
Can' t see, can't feel. 
This is mine, much more than his.

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