memories, like ashes flung
across the web of time -
are half-burnt logs where dreams still
sputter;

and I bid them all goodbye

no one knows the sorrows,
nor the joys of light unseen,
when stirring through the ashes
of yesterday's dreams

farther than an ocean spread
the eagle eye has seen,
but never can the keenest
pierce that gray and ashy sheen

the past is gone - a mirror
of our present selves, I think -
the things we see there
gratify the darlings and the beasts
+
memory, like ashes flung
across the net of time -
are proof that life one time
was lived:
that fevered dream of mine

now dead                      

below the surface,
where the dust is soft and blows
in the gentle gentle breeze;
below the hardened crust of teardrops
raining down down
through the trees:

there the shifting ashes lie;
the happiness of dreams,
the lifting light of love's delight,
the lightning at the seams

and there I roam,
a lost forlorn,
a citizen of dreams
that long ago have burnt to ash
and scattered all my things
+
memory, like ashes flung,
across this web of mine,
with shadows in the corner comes
and wakes the dragon Time

each forward step                          
              a drop of fuel
                 each hour
a log of pine

and always always flickering
that fire we all call mine

till memories, like ashes flung,
across the wrinkled line,
fill up the span my steps have spun
and dry the noonday sun

+

and I stirred the fire to flame again
and thought of her no more