i can see that day like it belonged to someone else
as distant as the television in the other room
another of those things that only happens to other people
as every day life continues the memories of that day are
like ghosts that left an imprint that will last for months

longer than your face and your laugh because
all i had left was pictures in
my mind
and in these blurry weeks
few pictures last long

but the ghosts of that day, the almost solid shadows: will stay with me
the way main street looked when
she closed the car door,
her face when she threw up her hands and let you go--
and how a street full of cars and people suddenly seemed empty

the way the clay felt in my hands and how hard it was
to focus on the chatter around and the sound of my
hand scraping against the pottery wheel--too dry
it needs more water, this bowl is going to break--
too late its broken.

when i walk past the park i see the three of us
each holding on to the parts of our lives that
touched yours and in the midst of those fierce thoughts
i can hear the mosquitoes buzzing in the grass
like static in the next room

i think that static will follow me around my whole life
like the memory ghosts
and that day that i want to forget--to wipe from existence--
will always be a part of me now.
it’s the only way to hold on to you
and a way to remember that dreams are not
just things we wake up from

dreams are the people we love and those memories
that follow us into each day--the live we choose to live
and those people you have now that you can still hold on to

dreams are those parts of my life that i will live because you lived them
and the picture of your hands on the piano
as you lived your waking dreams
is one i will paint into my heart

and in these weeks that few pictures last in,
i will never let it go.