Gresham, Oregon

I exist Only
                  in your memory.
 That is all that matters to you,
  what you remember about me,
  who you remember me to be.
 I am atoms, I am stardust, I am a million
                conversations and arguments and 
          lamentations and 
                     sonnets and 
               movements
 inside my brain cage,
 inside my rib cage,
 
 But you will never understand all that is in me, nor me in you; all you hold is a few images, fragments of frgmnts compressed to fit into some tiny mental nook. And it is so easy to forget.
     Time snows over all people and places in our heads. We must remember to dig them up, dust them off, dance with them in our dreams and renew them in our waking hours:
 
 Smile, embrace, 
              hold hands,
 run and jump and play,
   feel what others are trying to tell you with their eyes and hands. Burn them to life into your retinas, press their words into your muscles, passion into movements.
 
   I remember you.
 I know you.
 Do you know me?
 It snows so much in that head of yours,
     I fear I am
               b  u  r  i  e  d  in white powder,
 a ghost of the man I once was,
 pushed under by the
   man from porlock
 or perhaps an insistent
   ancient mariner with a compelling new tale.
   
   I remember you.
 I know you.
 Do you know me yet?
 Have you seen my heart,
 heard it beat,
 written it down in your records and filed it away
 under the grey winter grass?
 Do you trust my landscaping?
   Shall we cultivate a new genus of living images and
           dust off the snow together each fine december morning?