Memory's Haste

In tantalizing fantasy,
I dreamt myself to wake
each breath a separation
along drifts of dragging fog.

Scrambling banks of my abyss,
of cognizance, what is real, in this,
my fabrication.

Blearing clarity into surrender,
the air, abrupt breathes still
leering movements of memories
tear, amiss, their intricacies surpassed.

In days that still linger close
parts of a past, lamenting
fastened quiet, I sit for dim time
whisper remnants of long ago sighs
and watch ghosts go by.