Shelly Gray Took my memory away. My sister lost her arm in the war. I know there was a time I was better, and I always aim my toes at that spot. But I can never find my way back there. My dreams send me tricks in my pillow feathers. But I never can speak or think of it. The blur tells me those thoughts and that world was never meant to be remembered by me. There's no failing or work to be done. The dreams are for their own purpose. Maybe for the fish or the sun.