[I'm just going off a mood here. It's a short piece.]
They like to say that I have a photographic memory. I don't.
I have an empty shoe box, a quarter full with memories--ideas--
where little things sometimes fall in and rest there
only to be discovered again.
I have a shoebox scrapbook where the dusty pieces of fabric
live, and they fray a little bit when I pick them up,
piece by piece, to watch their texture in the sunlight,
and watch them soften,
and watch them breathe.
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