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JEFF GUESS

                        Memory Board

It was almost entirely

about thrown shadows

everything had its own dim

supine and other shape

pulled out on the interstices

of the sun’s transitory geometry.

Those stairs now wind into a fog

of forgetfulness

from the one room

on the first or second landing

that memory reproduces

in monochrome

with that unrelenting irritant smell

of furniture polish

and flytox.

And just inside

the open doorway

a small squat vase

of week old aquilegia

and the sad confetti of their neglect

on the carpet.

These recollections

on the itinerant slide-show

of the mind

caught somewhere

between strangeness and mystery

still throwing shadows

on everything in the relief

of gathering darkness.