Forgotten, yet not forgotten.

The cold winds of evening gradually fell asleep
In the bowers of the whispering woodland,
Even the stream’s meandering grew vague
Like a child who had lost the way home again,
Or a scholar trying to decipher
The shaded pages of a sheltered sky
Before the manuscripted hyroglyphics were wiped dry
By the grey laden clouds of the secret night.


Voices of the day still dallied in somnambulistic echoes
Like memories remembering that you remembered them,
Those picturesque daydreams that once held your hand
As you wandered peacefully through your chaptered hours
Page by page, in charismatic choral interpretations of peace,
So very many bookmarks, so many pages turned over at their corners
Forgotten yet not forgotten, misted crazy paved places you once
Stopped at, mystified by the many separate forks in their roads.


An old wooden casket, open on the fireside table, inside it
Shone glimmering stars of every wish you had ever made,
And every sliver of moonlight you had ever gathered on the bridge
Of moss clad stone, as you dozed in the musical terpsichorean smile
 of the river, before wandering away home, wrapped in the images
Of everyday, rainbows, sunrises, sunsets, and nightingales
Singing over the evening’s lace patterned river,
Moon gold mesmerizing moments of fragrant forever…

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