She counts recollections, lovingly separating them: friends in her litany of strangers. Time, right now is abundant: her string of warm pearls each one caressed in its turn soft chatter of afternoon sunshine, attic dreams filled with clutter of pasts still possible, reminiscence, small doorways to linger by. Reality sleeps in the windowsill, panes whisper in sepia-toned haze, invitations held between pages pictures of forgotten names, her crowd of waiting memories laid to rest in cardboard coffins periodically resurrected: recurring sťances practiced in the privacy of her faithful visits. Enfolding herself in autumn-wheat hues and magnolia winters she dwells brushing the past with tingling skin: relived, the rose bares no thorns. Pressed soft between thoughts carnation smiles keep - With the wallflower someone once placed in her hair with a kiss never wilting.
© Jon Bohrn (2001)