It is very faint. The
Memory whirrs about
In my mind, like an
Old VHS tape. Cold

Static, drawing across
My faintest conceptions.
A grey recording of
A time past, old and

Gone. The bright screen
Under the dark sheets,
The cool August night.
That music. All of it

Faint, hewn in static,
Bleeding from decades
Of being replayed. Now
All I can do is struggle,

Struggle to remember.