On the vernal equinox
Love for all we did have

Tangled in memory

So many memories; some lost; some recalled; new ones made; maybe exact memories cannot be recalled but their remnants remain, feelings that glisten like jewels / New Jersey / 2009

I tangle myself in memory,
in my senses, and I drift.
Laws exist,
but I do not know them.
I am watching the wind and the fog
through the branches.
Through petunias and lines of poetry.
On an old cup
something gathers,
and slips inside me.
Poets are good as long as they crack
like fresh asparagus.

~ Meta KuĊĦar, 26


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