aging is forgetting
bitten pencils sharpened
to shavings,
traded my HB2 for a B6
admired charcoal black lines.
paint tubes plastered shut
words tumble out on
any old scrap,
memories dashed against
trash heaps
maybe, burnt in bonfires
all those joys, tragedies
cradled in the wind,
carried to someone
who might be young enough to remember.