Memories

Memories, on those which I feed,
are scarcely what is true,
so I fall in love every time
that I lay eyes on you...

It's always so wonderful
and always so pure,
that of what I should do
I am totally unsure.

Like particles of dust
that blow from my hand.
I wish they would settle
and fertilize the land.

And from the land
would grow a fruit or flower,
that would prove to me
the results of this tremendous power.

A power of the living.
A power of the dead.
A power other than
the memories in my head.