A Game of Memory

ANOTHER FACE



Lined up against the wall,

tilted not to slip and topple into shards,
stand mirrors that chronicle an endless life.
Departed faces
who's plainness or beauty
shimmer yet on the glass,
must be my various selves.

Recognize me please if you can,
what do you recall?
Put a name to a reflection, whisper my identity.
Play a game of memory,
I'll do the same for you.

Yet all companions have flown to dust.
A fragment can't know the facet
from which it came.

A perfect me
wouldn't keep searching through new births,
but sleep in a noble dream like Buddha does.

Eightfold paths multiply to infinity.





TWO GHOSTS
poems
Lyn Rochelle

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I realized today that I've been talking to my recent dead quite a bit. They seem to like me more now, but not yet enough to grant me miracles.

Tomorrow's another day......