Starting to convince myself
it is a blessing
or a curse
to have a house so filled
with memories
rendered as physical artifacts
each floor seems to hold
limitless space for more
granted mostly boxes
that remain as vast in scope
as the moments in which
they originally occurred
who now can count
such numbers?
each time one is recalled
another beckons forth
creating new connections
endless and indestructible
for instance I cannot remember
the first time I realized
the grains of sand
along the ocean were countable
and some poet or other
probably compared them
to the stars or some such stuff
synecdoche for everything
somehow taking place
in the same universe
how could it be so?
who could hold such figures?
see now how they stream
out of doorways and jambs
collectively making one
statement countless placards
on the same theme
Hands off! The people are out
pouring into the streets
Joshua Keiter 