I close my eyes:
I trace every gesture
retread every footstep
linger in every syllable

A jewel of time
held in the palm of my past

It turns and turns
each flickering facet
thumbed and rubbed
’til soft and scuffed

So precious to me
I daren’t touch it now
for fear it will wear away
like all the others

For fear I may lose hope
of ever feeling that way

again

Who am I
to be filled with such hoards,
treasures of memory
fondled gems of moments past

Who am I
to be burdened thus,
tortures of memory
crystalline time set to lapse

But these satisfactions are permanent
and to deny them is to deny me:

I keep ahold of my parade of bijoux
not because they were

but because I was.