Early Memories

The shards of gold and silver
Dart and shimmer in a recess of my mind,
Piling soil upon artifacts of the memory
That I have left behind.

Notions of a future here,
Like doomed pupations of winter
Release their grey insect corpses,
That flutter and flicker to floors.

And motions of the days
Unfamiliar to this moon, this sun
Seek out for new rythms to muster;
For different patterns to dance.

And I, deeply buried,
Must stir in these movements.
Like grass, like waves, I am at the mercy
Of what life throws my way.