i try
to grab
at the fading
memories
of us
but they float away
away from me
just like you did

our salad days caper in the waning. like a twilight itch.
all the windows are all skies that parachutes shun
for fear of falling in the first place,
as heavy as a bell unrung,
we slip into oblivions as cautious as a rhino
at a campfire… while all the tents
are yearning…

for real fire,