My brain jangling memories, memories of memories, like keys,
Irritating and impossible to find.One moment, I am august,
The next...well, the next I feel the fall that breaks the summer.
Meanwhile, off in the distance: the astonishing horizon line of time
That threatens more, more--until I buckle under the possibilities.
Until the end I’ll feel it, each night, each dream a new dying.
But this god that chases me is as mortal as I am, and furious.
Watch now as I will myself to change: I bend and send roots
Down; I branch and open up into something more certain.
It’s a loss, consciousness. But the sound of wind carefully
Heard and interpreted can describe this beginning for me.
It only takes a listener fraught with a store of memory.
