In the Palm of Remembrance

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