//Bittersweet Memories
"We're here"
Stepping left
Dirty boot tapping, pushing
Cracking open the capsule
Of this white nineteen eighty-something

The prints fresh
Whispered away by the wind
Brushing away the specks of dirt
As if God was
The slowest archaeologist

We look ahead
At the sad, cold figure
Sitting solely
Alone, dead
At the end of the endless
Dirt road
A barren curve
Rounding mathematically off
Into nowhere

The sky is darker here
Though no different than
The year preceding this
But darker, somehow
Than it ever has been
Or ever will be
This day, the smallest
Chronologically claustrophobic

Something is different
The smell of something
Brought on still winds
Or not brought
At all

With a look, once again
A yearly routine
The tiles a bit rustier
The car a bit older
We step back in
Taking with us a photograph
To stick in a binder
To lose
And forget about
Because we need an excuse
To return next year