Moments of the past, do not last
memories kicked into the long grass:
a warm early-summer’s day
golden petals, white clover.
Stormy-autumn comes
with flurries of snow
the dead of winter
catches body heat
in frozen snow
tumbling into slushy heaps of red, gold, brown
no crisp-crackle underfoot
old ghosts lose their threads
pot-heads weave into fragile, thin
paper-like skin
echoes the savage-silent-dread
of memories-lost, storm-tossed
dust-motes float,
gossamer webs
glitter in the rain;
words thought, but never said,
misrule-misled,
in the very eye of the storm
memories replete
old-ghosts fled,
chapped, red-raw hands
from working the mid-winter land
storm-sent, soil-scent winds
blow me back to kingdom-come,
Listen! lost-time’s silent beating drum.

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