The Elusive

The lonely lights of my longest of nights

Hold on to a meager brightness

While parts of me grope around in the dark

For things that I know have not been here

Since they escaped into an eternal dust

Swirling around in empty rooms of a present

And lingering in the folds of long forgotten curtains of a past.

For that which is today will smoothly fit into

The painstakingly woven baskets of or not of worth 

Which are carried backwards by the timeless hands of time.

Shrubs of recollection are all that have remained

With their thorns growing inwards, nourishing the fruit of movement

While I sit with my shadow watching the whirlwind as it has lifted a leaf

And turned it round until all that is left of it now is a memory.

The stricken eyes laugh or cry no more.

They have seen but a tiny fraction of all that they had wished to see.