Like a baby blanket surreptitiously discarded of
Or the empty home no longer filled with chatter,
They keep track like the first Keeper of Time, Chronos.
As the miniature watches scorch under the halogen light.
With another two weeks gone, the sights and experiences
Of this pair are seared into the mind.

What beautiful scenes are adhered, too.
The first glance at the maze of lights that now
Make up the desire for a future in the enchanting
New York City. What adhesive is stronger than the
Time one fell in love skyscrapers, with an isle,
With a community that could someday be a home.
Fixed as a souvenir of my memory.

No life is without torment, Chronos’ time capsules
Keep track of sadness, too. A lifetime of pain—
That summer of divorce, when the house of cards
Came toppling down. Then the crispy Autumns where
The reminder of the brevity of life was ever present.
The TV show I watched the morning they split, and
The dual phone calls explaining “This is the end.”
Fixed as a souvenir of my memory.

The blue-tinged keepers of time encounter the same image
Every now and then. A transcendent book read my entire
Life has become commonplace to these time keepers.
The time the Boy Who Lived ended my summer boredom, or
Moments spent clutching the third tomb through the hard days
Are remembered with every highlighted passage,
Annotation, and sloppily taped up page.
Fixed as a souvenir of my memory.

Saying goodbye is the hardest part.
Whether it’s that baby blanket or old home, or the friends
One leaves behind. But wherever one goes,
The remembrance of experiences and sensory affairs remain.
Just as the ancient time keeper put the universe in order:
Every two weeks, the cycle continues.
Discard the dream catchers and store the memory.