Here I sit in the archival hall of memories
looking through the gossamer of silken shadows
watching in wonder at images
colorized by time’s changeable winds.
The clock blurs pain’s sharp edges
and sharpens blissful moments.
Loss ebbs and flows with a scent or
a song that wraps itself snugly around the past.
Life is such a delicate and intricate ornamentation
shining softly in the backdrop, until the light
calls my name, and dreams of forgone times
form with tactile clarity as I grasp your hand again.