Table Top

I got lost
in the pieces of a severed dream
memories lying on the table top
much like I lay on the ground
what seems like too short of an eternity ago
Wandering through each fragment
beginnings, middles and endings
a walk through the incomplete pieces of myself
in desparate search for the strings
to tie it all together
I like to linger
at the more pleasant moments
in the warm sunshine on top of a hill
in the wet blooded joy-filled tumble from a bicycle
at the tug of a big fish on the line
But some I hurry through
head down so as not to see
tears at the smell of loam on a forest floor
or the agony in a bed of pine needles
and the hiding little boy, frightened without thrill
And for a moment then
I am everywhere at once
running running
until the older boy, the man stands
brushing the dirt off his knees
Leaving me
while he laughs the blood off his hands
still lying on the forest floor
lost in the pieces of a broken dream
and memories for the table top