poetry diary

Mirage my memories,
murmuring mirrors, I

see shifting sand dunes; storms
sweeping shapes skywards, you

changing constantly, cage
chaos-created, my

emotions encircling
each entrance and exit.

Feeling for fixed frames, I
fly forward, finding me.

————-

I was given a book for Christmas called “Proust was a neuroscientist” by Jonah Lehrer, knowing nothing about either Proust or neuroscience. I now know a very little about each; it is an excellent read, stimulating some new ways of imagining how memory works.