cork stopper

you can feel it when the cork stopper pops.

if you press the

lips of your flask to the gaping hole,

memories trickle in; tenuous argent streams.

you tell me to never let them go

but i've sealed the flask with gauze for your memories to breathe.

slowly, your past oozes from the sieve

in mercury droplets, clinging to the bottle rim.

your thoughts trace sinuous rivulets down the sides;

bead and burst as they land upon

damp midsummer grass.

i am five again,

barefoot in that cool wet lawn

with a firefly jar and a head full of dreams,

trying to understand those

golden blinks past sunset.

i can cup one in my hands,

its fire ephemeral as passion.

and i think your passion is

nothing more than the memory of

two wings thrashing against cruel glass until the

coals turn cold.

but i think i have waited too long for you.

your past has evaporated, a thin film of

dust clothing your naked dreams.

that creature no longer twitches its segmented leg.

so i let the jar fall,

let your wilted bud bloom with jagged glass petals.

the dust scatters in the air,

a shower overhead like dull glitter,

shimmers that dissolve yet sit suspended in that still night.

i think i have set you free,

but you can feel it,

the tension in your

lingering wake of untold tales.