Ghosts of Recollection

Some people are born to sit by a river

Some get struck by lightning

Some have an ear for music

Some are artists

Some swim

Some know Shakespeare

Some are mothers

And some people dance

But when the time comes

The storm will roll in

And the levee will break

Then the water will rise

All slow and deliberate

When that time comes

Artifacts and heirlooms

Will be washed away

Or buried beneath silt and rubble

But the recollection remains

And the moments of recall

Will transmute into word

And pass over tongue and lips

And give voice to those

What have gone before

Otherwise washed clean away

And the ghosts of memory

Will touch us and remind us

Of the inevitability of change

And the necessity of remembrance

And the futility of fighting

A clock that runs time to it's own direction

To its own metric