By Jacob Gray
Ash settles like snow
On fickle memory,
Hot, and cold.
You are where my brain and
mind
Collide, and disagree,
Subsequently
I grew old, while you
stayed
Much the same. I wish to
cut,
And count your rings;
But it is only your
changing leaves
I see, your age a guessing
game,
Imploring me–
Now you are the black bee,
Buzzing deep within my
memory.
I swat at you and run away
Testing my capabilities,
showing
You how fast I can run
today.
But I am only stung
By the warping of time,
The interwoven in flight,
yellow-laced twine,
refracted light.
Follow me, bumblebee,
And we may find your
yellow;
But backwards glances only
give way
To repeated turns of the
handle
On dead-bolted doors–
Frustrating me.