Do sparrows pick our trail of memories
as breadcrumbs lost upon the soil;
or mud, if tears have rained
upon those inadvertent footprints
we leave, hoping that loved ones remember,
for we can’t?
I do recall that picture postcard of you;
mementos stored within minds cellar,
matured with age, but withered by wine
makes confusion overflow
within those cellophane folders;
useless stationary accessories...
Electronic memories of heirs
collect pictures of the sparrows
eating the breadcrumbs I’d left behind.
I do recall that fallen sparrow...
frozen in the keepers capsule;
waiting for a warm Spring day.
