Long nights
with a memory
born of nothing but
spontaneous recollection
Random thoughts pass
like rudderless ships
in the middle
of an open sea
Screams flowing out of
the fog of paddle-ship steam
Feet treading over a river
that delivers more news
to the newsworthy crowd
obsessed with the past
ebb and flow of the present
How fleeting these beached dreams
seem within the art of remembrance
especially for the first dance
the hopeful waltz before the roads fill with time
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