Seeds of Memory

If I make a wish for my memories to fade
on the wisps of a seed taken on the wind,
will they find their way on the back of
butterfly wings and spread like weeds in
someone else’s pasture?

Will they take root and grow, only to be
plucked and laced into a crown placed
around another head of ringlets with
an illusion of innocence?

My life is a bed of wildflowers.
I find myself searching to tell the difference
between the stems that lead to flowers of growth
and those that strangle like reaching tentacles
beneath the soil.

Aren’t all wildflowers beautiful?
Don’t they all provide nectar for the honey bee?

What if, rather than finding my way lost
among endless stems,
I buzz my way to a new bud, a new stalk?

I yearn for the single drop of dew on silk petals
in the early dawn after a dark night of cricket songs.

Perhaps, like seeds planted anew,
I’ll let my memories fade as dawn turns to blue.
A soft shift of colors that will come each day.
If some days are cloudy, I know the sky will brighten
just as surely as a sunflower stretches to kiss the sun.

And still, my wish passes me by and settles like a
whisper in the grass.

 

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