Poem to Memory
︎︎︎ Karl Green
︎ Dec 7, 2022
Each time It is as though we find one another while chasing
forgotten phrasings from a collective dream. I’ve stroked each
darkly woven hair of your lovely skull, tasted each fleck of dead
skin as it entered my sleeping mouth. In the dream we stand
silent at the edge of the docks, watching the insanity of your
creations float by, slow boats in single file. These days I am
careful so as not to be blinded by their sheen in the sun. You ask
if I remember the old man being carried up the path in the
labyrinth of Chisos Basin. To see him there, struggling through a
simplicity of breaths, it had been years since I’d witnessed
something so immersed in the platitudes of dying. I remember the
face in the final moments — like the gray cloud overtaking the sun,
swathed in gold.
forgotten phrasings from a collective dream. I’ve stroked each
darkly woven hair of your lovely skull, tasted each fleck of dead
skin as it entered my sleeping mouth. In the dream we stand
silent at the edge of the docks, watching the insanity of your
creations float by, slow boats in single file. These days I am
careful so as not to be blinded by their sheen in the sun. You ask
if I remember the old man being carried up the path in the
labyrinth of Chisos Basin. To see him there, struggling through a
simplicity of breaths, it had been years since I’d witnessed
something so immersed in the platitudes of dying. I remember the
face in the final moments — like the gray cloud overtaking the sun,
swathed in gold.