The lost art of remembrance
Evokes the wild, the manqué
Inside of me, all character within
Transformed by the Place you’ve occupied
Since the æons began – so I am held

Filtered of substance too viscous for
Lost thoughts as these memories
Defy the ether of retribution –
Recalling like a river on the dewy
Scale of March, the morning held,

Magnificent by this psionic sun,
Your hue and canvas now cleave into me
As a sky sulky with the conscription
Of Blue – with you, staring into my eyes saying,
Should this moment -any of this, even one breath-

Were to lose the denouement
Of its mounting, and we could never
See such a vision again, my heart will
Still stay, still long to keep flowing,
Flowing towards the figure of you.

© K. James Ribble