My memory has an empty space;
It floats in astral projection
over my practical dreaming.
My hands part the veil
of remembered Spring green,
searching for an oasis
which eludes me, even now.
My vision is at an unrest,
It requires clarity and form;
I offer nostalgia and hope.
My words become lost,
lingering on a levee of blank paper,
battle lines drawn, present in the absence
of labels, of identification.
All my memories are a collage:
A kaleidoscope of mismatched images,
sepia-toned, out of the past,
rises out of unconscious courage.
They still float before me—
beckoning, imploring, free.
I part the veil again and enter
my own verdant dream.
