Memory and Flesh

Are we alike in moments nearing sleep?
When inside the darkness made
By the flesh before our eyes,
We lose sight of what we know by day,
And fear how we must live apart
From the fabric of our memory.

Waking still, I try to conjure
Images to lead me into dreams.
I find myself beside a frozen river
Far from where I lie and far from sleep.
It is winter here; a gentle snow
Drifts down toward my face and hands.
I ask the shadows cast by barren trees
How I forget so much of you,
So much I must have known.

I catch a snowflake in my hand,
And watch it melt upon my skin.

If I could bring the cold of winter
To rest inside my hand,
My blood a frozen river –
Could I hold intact for ever
This lattice-work of crystal?

But I am memory and flesh.
What is drawn to me of winter
Must melt into the air
To rise, and join, and fall again.

I will at last have nothing left of you
As waking moments mist away.