a wisp of smoke

A memory
is like a ghost,
a wisp of smoke
from a fire long dead.

How longingly
we fan the embers
of these fading fires,
adding our breath,
the fuel of our being,
to the heat
of things long gone.

How we cling
to past experience,
building memorials
in our minds,
while the present,
all too often,
slips away,
unnoticed.