and where was it you flew to
in search of silent respite
folding your arms across your chest
and falling forwards into the air stream
carried by currents, suspended by stealth?

A memory of a day long ago
truth or fiction, each scene a new event

A story in the recalling or creating
a haze of happening or happenstance

Memory is spread throughout the brain
in different regions, is the region of the past

True North or chimera  I wonder,
one's own or the collective material of I

and who or what is I, a memory of a day
long ago and where if it exists does truth reside?

Is time a rugged sailor?
There was a dream
I cannot sense the truth of
cannot remember what occurred
within it, cannot say
what is occurring now as I do not know
I see the pen in my hand and see the words
emerge upon the paper
and wonder what is mine to know.

A day of huge wind
  of autumn calling, calling

Of reading knowing, knowing
  it is itself no more than this

Words tumble and are not seen
  or noted as else but outpouring

The devices of communication
  rest quietly whilst sight surveys

The green of trees
  and orange of flowers

A cascade of letters fell from a mountain
as an opportunity to unleash a shower
of words opened up to her and she
flew rainward into the clouds of
sentences that high above the word
flew forth and  freckled her arms
with flowered letters
which dried upon her skin.

It was not the doors of death
it was the bird of life
that crept slowly into the rafters
to shelter from the rain

I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens

My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows

My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination

I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret