Shifting through photos
I feel no connection, no recognition
to the person with time and years
ahead of them, looking to the future.

Pausing at one in particular in the midst of summer,
oak leaves burning with white light,
the sun slowly fading into the horizon
behind the hill at the street’s end.

What was etched into the mind
when the image became a permanent
moment tossed into a shoe box?
What was the last thought defining that moment?

Years will pass and that young face
will undergo an outward expression
of the strife, agony, depression, and final transformation
built upon the experiences, cast from the struggle.

In time what we are in this life
circles back to the foundation,
the hands pushing up from the earth,
the roots feeding a child’s growth and imagination.

Bundled, dressed, and prepared
for winter and spring, the sun is sharp
and clear, the air is charged and crisp.

Walking between town homes
with grey steel siding and
dry cement driveways,
our path is thick with snow,
ice, overturned grass from machinery
and footprints from dogs, people,
and other creatures we only see
after they have left.

Past the empty and still
swing set and slides, and the buried
child-sized back-hoe that
an occasional adult will
try when they think no one
is looking.

In the summer months
benches, swings, slides
and the soccer field team
with activity, barking dogs,
screams, cries, and laughter.

Now the city is sleeping.
The field is a pock-marked white sheet
stretched from one goal post
to the other.

Thoughts are present until
the air becomes filled with
a smell, familiar, yet distant.

McDonalds french fries.

Walking the side-streets to
morning physics, through slush
snow, and ice, McDonalds was
part of the routine, as much as
placing the left leg in first and
tying the right shoelace.

Steeped within this memory
a longing creeps in and I remember
days filled with lectures, pencils,
deadlines, papers, and shooting pool
to blow off steam.

Each day simple compared to now
but the day then chaotic from paper
to lab to mid-term to finals.

Procrastination a friend taken beneath my
wing, unveiled when 15 pages on the
industrial age and its use of technology.

Where have these days gone?

I remember the actions and the
activities, but I do not remember the person
or the hands behind the memories.

In fact, I do not believe this is myself
anymore, and with a detached glance
I put this memory away, for another
day perhaps.


Within the space of silent wandering
what falls away can be forgotten

yesterdays discarded paper of a lost time
the experience rolled into the collective.

they say you are the culmination of
yesterday, today and tomorrow.

if you hold dearly to the past
you will never know the path.

the mirror’s purpose is only to show
what you choose to ignore.


light scattered across the horizon
just before dawn broke and swept

away rain laden grey clouds
pulling back the veil of another

vision beyond here.

Beneath the darkening sky there is everything
to find in the void, in the nothing.

Ten thousand raindrops fell from the
darkening sky as flowers lifted their roots
and scurried about the field.

snow returned in the afternoon.

falling upon the cold steel and concrete
soon hidden from view.

the current version of a being and consciousness

bathed in white light
a brief glimpse of the source.


As time passes, the years become
cluttered with events, objects, memories.
Soon blended, past, present, future
become now.

With one motion the path opens
tress move to either side and the
journey continues.