A Moment to Remember

The August moon sweats silver droplets across the night sky,

and I listen as the quilt whispers its tune,

singing of my family, those that had fingered and sewed and sweated in its many pieces.

Tonight it won't work,

for I am remembering everything.



A year when the trees giggled after nightfall,

and lighting danced over the city,

illuminating our strobe-light romance and the end and the end that came after.

Tonight I was wondering

if my carpet remembered reading the patterns beneath your feet.



The thirsting whirlpool sucks everything from that one perfect year,

and I listen as it gurgles unsated in my head,

mourning for my memories, those that had been poured over and sobbed to many pieces.

Tonight I turn over,

and start wondering if the stars dream about us on Earth.