The Squirrel
Something tells me
And the things
We do and say
RECALL
It is strange
What the fog brings in
It is a strange thing
To live in the same town
History fades
When there is no one
Flint against steel
A conflict of surfaces
Memory is a beguiling phantom
Enchanting us backwards
And in the end
Does it all amount
The dust slowly thickens
On the shelves
The story rolls about my head
Like a stone picked up, off shore
