MEMORIES

Where do memories hide
when we've no need, it seems,
to pass the time of day
or night

With them?  Where do their colours crawl?
Back into their boxes
in the cupboard self
or fall

deeper still to where no daylight can?
And their actions?  Do some
ghostly hands in our two spheres
fan

the figures that we always see in some half sleep
into silent movie stills
that re-enact a past misdeed?
What currents creep

on the seabeds of our deeps, let loose
willy-nilly or when triggered by a face or someone else's egocentric art,
or simply choose

to reincarnate, past faults long dead?
I do not know...But's amazing, really!
Some secret place holds acts, colours, feelings
somewhere in each hand...

it seems each day's speils are
stacked away in special cells or clusters
of the same and, when required, they blaze forth,
if they can, like a star

whose prismed light received
is silent articulation made pictorial
by , some say, the soul, others by a
juster mind quietly warning or aggrieved.

© R.G. Bishop