Memory is like dreaming
through a viscous cloud
whose details sharpen
with the weather
and flow as a river in spring,
bubbling up with seemingly
insignificant details one day,
while forgetting what should
be memorable another.

The ebb and flow like the tides
makes life rise out of Stygian
darkness to live another day.
I bless those whose life is pure:
the simplicity of touch, smell,
and a wet, wagging tail.