For a moment i want it all to crust over me, a fine crystalline powder, a soft powder brush of memory; too many to place into a day, too bright too full to call itself an hour; for a moment we are here, me and my lost brother carrying our grandmother’s casket, the yellow roses blazing in the sunlight, the fresh soil of the world cascading itself around us; for a moment we are here, old pristine lake and grandma’s furniture, the coverings, the lace curtains, everything tangible, before my very eyes, some splay of core memories traipsing themselves backwards, as though i myself am a rugrat, dancing through these halls of memory which seemed gargantuan in near dream nightmare memory; some hallway endlessly dark, some amount of light dancing around my grandfather’s eyes; the names of polish towns, two dogs, one brown one white; some amount of conviviality; walgreen’s wine and the long illinois roads dotted with cascading green, endless fallow fields, wide eyed emotive sky; strawberry margaritas and questions, words, looks whose weight knocks down telephone poles, flattens barns, careens over the empty, aching fields; some straight laced trapeze of lacewinged memories, some colony of memory, the unearthing of sacred tomes of long-since buried remains; the freshly buried laying next to the newly revived; feigned familiarity, and a familiarity so close it slices to the bone, through the bone, in one simple slice; clean through the marrow, endless through the tight-rope of words, the tether of the proper placement of pain, placed just behind the eyes, or just under the roof of your mouth, squirreled away in your cheeks; the warm rolled grooves of a log cabin , pizza on paper plates and goblets of wine, laughing; identity clicking in to place in relation, deep scarred grooves of healed over placements tricking themselves into the light, dancing in the momentary shadows, flickering out of sight

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