sounds of night traffic pulsing along urban roads have replaced warm laughter over dinner debates debates on everything but not on what defines friendship that was known and required no amendments to what constituted why we loved one another but now an emptiness a fading out into the arid landscape of time where a grave stands unattended for all those who cared are gone so this grave bearing my name will be drought-stricken no tears from those i loved
found among the archeological items ceremonial clothing as well as personal adornments adjacent to these artifacts were cooking utensils and an assortment of decorative statues some obviously used in religious rituals below a strata of old news papers collections of leather bound images sorted by stages of life other images were string tied bundles that were incongruent with the bound images often portraying events which seemed to predate this particular tribal unit perhaps the forefathers regardless none were remarkable in determining the tribe’s past life or culture however the assemblage was quite amazing but there was one diagnostic artifact that captured my attention leaving me spellbound
and speechless a photograph of you
unrecoverable hours collections of minutes suspended in memory submerged like frogs in formaldehyde jars lifeless lifelike forms suitable only for dissection nothing more no way to reanimate those carefully preserved moments those specimens of life that are void of what defines life but are all too often examined and re-examined as if what was can become what will be
count the heartbeats passing before you as if each beat is the sound of their footsteps feel their pulse in the blinks of their eyes the flow of their existence in their facial postures and their demise in the silence of night that darkness where you’re unable to sleep for fear of your own death now i lay me down to sleep
