Someday you will ask, How did I get here?

Someday you will think, who is this person

I am bound to? How has our shared season

Passed? To memory’s hand, it still seems near.

Someday you will wonder if memory’s

Tale spoke truth while knowing it cannot

Except like an old photograph’s frozen

Moment upon which you built your story.

Someday you will admit your story’s false,

Gaps stutter white, like an old film reel

Badly spliced, blankly transmitting what’s lost:

An evening, irregular waves pulse,

Beach fire, standing in an uneven wheel–

Friends’ former faces bead the dark mind’s vault.