in loving memory

i was listening today to what the wind said. her ancient theories sung like she was exorcising memories of conversations with the sun back in a time when it wasn't always like this. and maybe it was just the way I was feeling but it reminded me that never have i loved anyone or anything so wildly. a fire birth in loving memory of all that is beautiful without being pretty. let me tell you this - always have i found things without edges to be the most real, but i grew too large to keep walking on my knees despite being more alive than i had ever been. and now not over shoulders but turning full faced to ponder the things seen electric, still, through the fog of half light these time softened recollections. hazy giants augmented to mythical proportions salvaged by one not willing to let them fade. "has time been kind?" i wonder as again i hold out my hand as you grow ever larger and more opaque while we spin at such amazing speeds. circles within circles that should hands bigger than our imaginations choose to untangle would resemble a chain of connectedness stretched across eternity and swayed on occasion by the breeze which is the song of the wind who sings her secrets to those who will listen...

For in and out, above, about, below,
‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
      Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

from 'the rubaiyat of omar khayyam', by omar khayyam / translated by edward fitzgerald