reading through old poetry
to revive old memories or at least to remember
there are more colors out there than red
more feelings than blissful indifference?
finding less heart than i remember feeling
purples less bright than the reds i recall
memories more dull than the grays implied
Experience dripping?
Hot bath water down a suddenly chilled back
Cold rain from the tip of a nose to the top of a chin
Icemelt from a fading stalactite
Sweat from one’s being
Blood from one’s teeth
Tears from one’s burning eyes
A symbol of Completion.
The winter freezes tight, then it melts away
The last of the bath from a fresh, clean skin
The soul drips from our pens and our words and our songs and our swords
And I can only hope
I’ve a big enough bucket
to catch it.
