If it’s true what they now say,
That my memories float off into the invisible everything,
Trailing behind me and the earth all mixed up connecting,
All of us to each other and every moment to every other;
My joy is to tap into those swirling trails and bring down my poetry.
It’s no surprise to me, that every word I write, has already been written;
Been whispered in love, over and over in every language, in every way,
Until my past might be your future, and yours, the beginning of a poem.
I just sit, the stenographer of collective consciousness, copying it all to paper…
And feeling humbled and blessed to have been given my waypoint of creativity.
We have only just begun to realize the meaning of, “Nothing new under the sun.”
We shine bright then we fade, every thought in our lives still somewhere.
Nothing lost and yet nothing new, we recycle each other, and form our own collages.
You say you know what I mean and who knows? You might even be part of the dream,
The one I had last night; I might have drifted into your memory stream and….
December 1, 2019