Where do they come from?

Those scissoring moments

Water-washed beneath stars

A pinch on your arm

Leaves a slow bruise

Slow wading in turbulent ocean

Are you the vessel, or distress signal?

Asylum tilting on weak hinge, welcome or scorn

I have a callus

The rub of you

Wore my skin

To shivered bone

Where do they come from?

The moments holding persistence

Like a much washed rug, loses its color

Drying in tangerine sun

And in its imprinted shadow, we remember

Even as it has faded, the original

Momento mori.