The Memory That Fell Out of My Grandfather's Wallet

and she stares back through the small window placed precariously on the hearth catching my sporadic glimpse. this morning is different an interrupted rendezvous, a young man your arm holds casting that familiar smile (One plus one equals two) these voices remind me through a Pablo Neruda window sill exiled by the note found wants I should know you. a smile torments my memory twisting a distant storm unable to produce rain, stirs clouds of silt vanished footprints. you have evaporated now, your pedestal seated high next to life’s marble vase; never aging always new hidden behind a false wall as something haunts me misplaced like an old shoe understands the process, while womb to air escapes without an imprint