Remembering

Remembering you and reviewing our structural love the past re-arises alive from its smothering dust. For memory, which is only decadent in hands like a miser’s loving the thing for its thingness, or in the eyes of collectors who assess the size, the incredible size, of their collection, can, in the living head, create and make new the sometimes appallingly ancient present and sting the sleeping thing to a sudden seeing. And as a tree with all its leaves relaxed can shiver at the memory of wind or the still waters of a pool recall their springing origin and rise and fall suddenly over the encircling basin’s lip— so I, remembering from now to then, can know and see and feel again, as jewels must when held in a brilliant branch of sun.