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Poetry by Martin Mitchell 




© 2004  Martin Mitchell






I am at least what I remember—a fluid and

evolving collection balanced between

what has just been acquired and what

has just been forever lost, from sunrise

to sunrise


Every experience that I recall is evidence of my

existence, if only to me; I may be nothing more

than what I remember—and what I remember

is all that connects me to anything or to

any time


I can still be jolted by a scent, a sound, a sight that

abruptly penetrates the thickening boundary around

me, that stirs a connection beneath the accumulated

silt, a connection that has survived the recurring bonfire

of sunrise


I feel connections fading, yielding to their own

twilight, dissolving into a realm where apparitions

and real images blend and blur, and recollections

once vibrant drift on the horizon

without context


I remember what I am—though there are many more

tenuous threads that degenerate, snap, and lose their

attachments than there are new links—a diminishing

collection of threads that weave meaning from sunrise

to sunrise







An angel finally appeared to respond to my need.  He had

a patient face with tired eyes.  He greeted me with a wide

smile and exaggerated, fluid motions as he bowed graciously.

He wore a mime-face and refused to speak.


Afraid to ask what I really wanted, I asked instead

how long a love could last.  He spread his arms, then

his wings, in a long, slow shrug. He closed his eyes

and smiled, mainly to himself, and I knew.


He was answering the question that I did not ask: love can

span the times between.  But I challenged him, reminding

him that we forget, between the times, we lose track, become

confused, and make the poorest of decisions.


He gave me a sad and forlorn half-smile.  Then he looked

past me to my left, and then to my right.  He cocked his

head and looked puzzled.  Then he spoke - he demanded

to know why, why I stood alone before him.





All work is copyrighted property of Martin Mitchell.



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