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.