A whole man
is replaced by memories
the memories
are replaced by the records
and they scatter
and scrunch
beneath this and behind that
like shadows
You can put them in a zip-log bag
wrap them in bubbly plastic
and put them in a safe
but you can't stop them sneaking away from you
A photograph of the man
becomes just a photograph
and only sand-like remains
remain like sand
What a fine meditation on the whole process of "living" this is. Yes, it starts in the loss of one man, but then it spreads out to all our losses of the real moment, to memory, to memories of memory.
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