the fix of memory

autumn trees have no memory of their spring
                                                or their sapling years besides and

beneath the older trees they fought

and through odd fortune 

they grew  usurped them and fed at their decay like vibrant vampires 

seedlings come full circle

no memory

but if they did

a memory for just the past year

to remember being vigorous and green

now bare 

clutching a thin cloak of coloured leaves at their throats quietly

desperately

as the cycle is

and must be

and saplings not so very far away  flourishing

what would they think

would they think as I do

as I struggle with my infirmity

fight my regrettable emotions of being less than I am physically capable
                                                                             of my growth   

my greening and autumn

I revere the cycle

too many of my people have died to not

gentle cogs
             terrific gears
                            the spent tears of our unexpected lives

for which I am grateful
                         and saddened

such is the fix of memory

1919,   Monday,   20  6. 11