Between Memory and Knowledge Falls the Night
s/crap [of seaside; landwise]
Last year. By the sea, it seems. Me in the waves, you sunken in sand. Perhaps if we built a sandcastle, you replied. I, moon-faced, floated - I. Watched you, and the ebb tide carried the question away. Hid it or stole it for good and now. I stepped out of the water. Too many drops to - - into your arms. And be carried. And anyway. You didn’t take a single step toward me. How should you? Stuck in sand.
I miss you, naked toes. My eyes draw close.
And burn. I can’t think of remembering now. I scratch. Scrub. Rub. With sandpaper fingertips.
Green on the horizon. I have scratched my cornea. Not seaside. Landwise.
Forest, it seems. I can think of -
A fierce cat that walked me home through raging fears, hawk eyes on paws at the doorstep for the rest of the dark. A playful cat that, at dawn, accompanied my courage back into the woods, leaving me where the nettles grow rampant. They were one and the same being.
But whether I remember it - -
Between memory and knowledge falls the night.
Eyes do close and rest. Skin regenerates.
Words. I love words when they come.
Love, A