Every grain of sand

Becomes a pigment of memory

A memory becomes captured
In the lens of a mothers camera
A speck of light gleams through
The walls of molten sand while
the fire in the hearth is its


only competitor


The feeling,


Exhilarating



Woozy


Stomach churning



High

Cotton balls in a jar

Play the role as a cloud

For my dancer from

Grandma when I was five

Memories have been stowed
Away by the prettiest pack



Rats
With gilded harnesses and


Booted paws

The wind acting as a


Tranquilizer

It wakes me up from my

Over dose of anesthesia
From a moonlight cloaked jar

With a cork on top.