We try so hard to find the words
to remember the fading dream,
catch falling water with our hands;
to capture the best memories.

There is no jar that can hold them,
but go on and puncture the lid.
No box so large as to entomb,
but go on and wrap what you can.

Their fragile nature makes them great
while also the cause for heartbreak;
for the truth that they make us feel
cannot reconcile what is real.

Though we are obliged to live lies,
and the moments we truly lived
will fade into obscurity;
take solace in what gifts they give.

It is in those spaces we find
the time to appreciate love
and enjoy one another’s truths
that have eluded us since youth.

Unfettered by any demands
we become what we’re meant to be,
but like sifting desert sands;
that power is far too costly.

Still, I want all those memories;
the haunting phantasm of those dreams,
the moist lips of a desperate drink;
let photographers fill in those blanks.