Existence

I am falling again, rise and become smoke
float on my memories and remember:
faded old posters that were dreams, once
dried flowers, brittle but still in their bloom
ochre wind that blows straight through you
slow movement of feet on the waterline
the passing of loved ones, always too soon

first the silver is woven
then the leather straps are tightened, gently
and from that everything will follow:

the texture of wet hair when it is pouring
the candles on the windowsill, the soft shaded light
the slowly evolving rhythm of footsteps on the pavement
the beat of the drums and the drone of the electric guitar
that old house that was always there, waiting

one day we will be old
the wind shall pick up the hem of your skirt
and we shall stand there marveling the sky
purple as on that day when the summer would never end
and nothing will ever have changed