)

moments of the past

fall flat

memories do not last:

kicking leaves

in stormy-autumn 

tumbling heaps, red, gold and brown

deep-set colours all around

echoing the silent dread

of  the day of the dead.

A memory-lost, a memory-found,

storm-tossed words,

all around,

thought 

but never said:

regrets of a life misled.

Dust-motes float

around my head,

gossamer threads,

glittering words in spiders' webs:

say hello to stormy autumn,

its mists and ghosts and rain

wind and storm

scatter dreams;

swirl the  leaves of stormy autumn,

or so it seems,

blow me back to kingdom-come.

Pray silence:

hear

lost time’s

beating drum.