sometimes one cannot bear to read an old poem until a year after it has been written

memory loses clarity
as sunrise subsumes sunset
for the 116th time
firestorms have swept my days
and in their ash
companions remain and drift

but our love is alive in those ashes
combing through desert of past
vigilantly caring for
unscarred elements
and fondly holding dear trinkets
in her pockets
for our love is a scavenger in time
always searching...
her passion shall preserve passion
and her longing shall preserve longing
and her heart shall preserve our hearts
until they touch again

but now, sunset cloaks sunrise
for the 116th time
and the firestorm swept through my day
as it did the last
and companions have remained ghosts that drift
but our love is alive in those ashes