In the Palm of Remembrance

Outside my window of old wood, and wayward cobwebs
down in deep crevasses, where the poet dwindles
inscriptions of his fading passages
found on white chalk walls

I can almost see my childhood slip away
like fragments of a mirror broken
by reflection changed
with time

Countless moments become memories
the fantasies, fading into shadows
dancing in tune with sunlight,
forgotten

So now I find myself standing alone; the eye of the storm
my roots reaching deep, and holding this land
in the palm of remembrance

Cassandra Coxen