Outside my window of old

wood, and wayward cobwebs

down in deep crevasses, where the poet dwindles

inscriptions of his fading passages

found on white chalk walls

 

I can almost see my childhood slip away

like fragments of a mirror broken

by reflection changed

with time

 

Countless moments become memories

the fantasies, fading into shadows

dancing in tune with sunlight,

forgotten

 

So now I find myself standing alone; the eye of the storm

my roots reaching deep, and holding this land

in the palm of remembrance