Breathe

Breathe
Places I remember come alive,
Like frozen pantomimes that pierce,
The flowing stream that flash so fast,
mute.
Trumbo tells of War,
Hemingway of death,
And Joyce invents what makes his sense,
Once young, your moves quite quick,
Rip-battering twilight dreams,
That childlishly conduct runaway trains,
As the world stands still,
mute,
Breathe,
Our Don Juan in agony,
As Milton and Eliot stare,
The air dribbles and trickles,
Under lips so cracked so cold,
And turbulent eyes keep twitching,
Below the blue sky far gone and sunk deep,
Words are spoken from the eye,
Witness want and wonder,
Some, often how I marvel,
Of the primal dream which was once,
Never was and never will be-
Because our lives are just a moment from memory.
End