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Where All This Started
Memories start here:
No sun light, always shadow,
always the weeds
standing and listening and watching,
always the trees in grey and black,
whispering in dead breezes,
always the voices
in the creaky boards of this porch, 
behind the boarded windows
and locked doors, on the other side of
a bone white column, behind my eyes,
inside my ears, before today,
before yesterday, before last week...
...I want to find them, to leave them, 
to put it all down on paper,
forget them and find my own.

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