mem'ry lays down patterns
in the flesh, the bone, the blood
that we inhabit
leaving trails and traces
set for resurrection
at the tug;
a flash of colour
drift of scent
airborne arpeggios
calling back the shape
of a smile, of eyes, of lips
starting echoes of endearments
in the lonely heart
that had almost
but not quite
forgotten it was lonely.
If once we love
the ashes of that fire
are there forever
waiting to be stirred up
by a song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem