Spilled Tea

A Refuel Of Remembrance

Deep in the depths of time
are the days of the orange
night glow of snow
through the window
and days when the leaves
float on the pond.

There are places named
things only some
would understand
and the echoes of voices
from these visitations.

Perhaps I will find a way
to pull some of these things
back to present.
There are chapters in this book
I wish to revisit for the sake
of the exhaustion
inside this body.

I need the refuel through a taste
of what, throughout this chaos,
will never disappear.