Only once,
maybe twice,
well maybe three
do we pursue the dream
we know cannot be;
littered throughout our mind
is the debris of failed attempts
and ravaged memories of love . . .
- if we can call it that -
rebuked and turned away
as often as raindrops fill
the patterns of our soles;of the past that no longer
vibrate sympathetically,
haunting echos of silence
bound by restraints of age
few tolerate until garbage day;
new versions of love
released quarterly like dividends
wander through our memories
to see what can be pawned.
3-23-12
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