Each day's a new block of ice
frozen at dawn, running down hill
as hours melt to thin memory,
rivulets pooling together somewhere (or nowhere).
Do memories visually pool with their like
forming layers on layers of similar scenes . . .
Are there tanks with various settings, collecting
specific qualities of recollection:
light water, heavy, murky or luminous,
drinkable or highly poisonous
(even though humans are not there
to analyze and provide such labels). . .
Is there a memory mixer, all histories
dancing or awkwardly gawking at one another . . .
Does the daily runoff evaporate
becoming the slight, fluffy or ominous clouds
of future days, our past drifting past . . .
Perhaps all recall is neutralized, or nothing
concerning us today but patiently waiting
for each person's next go-around
or visionaries' taking a sneak peak.
