Hour Five

Memories tucked into
my breast pocket
left and close to my heart
they flutter like eyelids
just waking from slumber-
fractured images
play upon the screen of consciousness
a remembrance and tribute
to a life once lived
the ancestors of self
that passed away
by the alchemical chemicals
and compounded experience
of former selves in prior chapters.
I reach into the enclosure
running my fingers over their edges
flipping through the pages of life.
some slip through fingers
like ribbons
while others cling to
the thread of emotion
slicing into my skin
the salt of tears- an antiseptic
cleansing the sounds.
Some are moonlit passages bathed in shadows
that circumvent the present-
I lift the camera lens of my eyes
and snap another memory
like my fingers
as I mosey along, maintaining
a rhythm of observation.
I tuck it in the rest
stuffing and threading the edges in
minding where I had come from
and just how far I’ve gone
a moment of self that passes
folded into memory.