What’s in a name?
What’s in a voice?
What sound do memories make
When they get stuck in the past?
Is it the sound of waterfalls,
Bleaching memories
Off the boards of our minds?
Have enough water
Gone under the bridge,
So much that frozen time pictures
Melt into inconsequential parts
Of a running river?

Maybe it’s the storm
Lashing angrily against bridges,
Breaking them, pulling them apart,
Till the past lies separate
From now.

What’s in a name
That you cannot call?
What’s in a voice
That you cannot hear?
What sound do memories make
Under broken bridges,
Shards of a past
We can no longer live?


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