Memory Amongst the old books again The order of the poems in which they were first discovered Flint-sparks that echo the lightnings and thunderous skies of long ago, now become sacred and magical on return– Memory become poetry. Versions I dreamt of a grove — a grove that gives man visions. We walked through it, my friends and I, and realized how fragile our versions of reality were. We saw a dog trotting effortlessly– with much more ease than us– through the trees. Love The thing that doesn’t care that it is a symbol for countless different things.