It's the first one in a long time I've liked after having produced it, and I hope you won't all find this posting of it torturous.
Memories are indistinct, just
some joy or pain once lived, now
losing their shapes, fermenting
like mulching leaves, layer
upon layer, by some fast
Leaves, or maybe fish, just flashes
in the murky depth, barely seen and
caught in crude nets by words, where
they wriggle, pulled out of the water
to drown in the small boat
of our new days.
Somewhere along the way, I
stopped fishing, and now
when they leap into my boat as if
eager to be eaten,
I throw them back.