A Memoir

Was it you I saw
Through the crowd
Of people and memories
Whose fields well ploughed
Are home to the
Wasted barren scapes?
My heart digests
My mind escapes.


Was it you I touched?
On my window sill
Disguised as dew
So cold and still
And full and fresh
And clean and pure
Was it you I felt?
I guess I’m sure.


Intricately carved
Explicitly viewed
Every glance every look
Is deemed miscued
As I think it over
Was it you I knew?
The questions are many
Answers, very few.