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de native

School days augmented by visits from public.
Week days enhanced by surrounding bodies of kinship.
Sunday morning awoke the sun, bright bedrooms and kitchens.
Scents fade with growing years, pictures stained on my eyelids.
Late at night, we lie awake to talk of heroes and distance.
When alone and minutes drag, I’ll rest assured we’ll walk again.

While years run and dry up I’ll swim in days of sun where legs walk on trails.
We’ll explore, we’ll break thoughts of boundaries.
The years slow and run out, we grasp for a last night where days are remembered.
We’ll let go, we’ll take on the distance.

Our distance has broken.

Ruins collected like trinkets will hang calmly from mantles.
Like tombstones they’ll sing.

Mourn for those who move on and leave us behind.
We’re past lives, we’re memories, we’re ghosts.
Wear black for spirits who leave here and move to new hives.
We’re past lives we’re memories forgotten.

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