Picture Frame

Bare are these walls... I now stand before, that were once adorned with picture frames. The brown boxes are loaded, and these frames of which I speak wait within. The door frame, the frame of the home, the borders that surround my garden, and the walkways I meander in the mornings, frame my memories, of a time once not bounded. And time... the time I once had in abundance, is now narrowed, like a punctuation that follows a thought, or a phrase that concludes a story... or, a casket that encapsulates a creation. Frames on a wall or frames buried beneath the soil... all are painstakingly aligned in parallel for the viewing... breathing life back to our memories... like some kind of voodoo. "'Cause I'm a million miles away And at the same time I'm right here in your picture frame." Thank you, Hendrix.