forgotten words and shifting sands

the sands are thoughtless
in their s hi fti n g
and
the roads are angry
in the wearing of my tires
(though tiring they are)

everything i never said to you

(like: how does your bread rise
or: who planted those apple trees
and: what was it like when only could i crawl)

is dry in my throat.

roots are truthful
and
no matter how
very so far
my path beats from them
truthful they remain

theres something about
the valley
and that river
that limeplant
(i remember you telling me of sliver trees)
and the closet of our
toys
books
contrary collections

please do not hold on

if you have not the strength
please fly

i never understood the
depth of your pride
until that day.