don’t go

wait until the last minute

right before the drop

separates from the ‘cicle

creating two from one


before you leave


the things that wash away

memory fails

too often than not

the sound of your voice

your choice of fragrant balm

lost into the tunnels of time

why do some things stick?

like grass stains on petticoat

faint ghost reminder remains

embedded into fabric

the leafy mark

imprinted forever on my soul

and others wash out

no matter how I try

to hold them close

or pull them back

they rinse out

running in the water

dissolving among the rolling

river of recollect