I seek between loose leaf notebook pages
scribbled and drawn on in my earlier years
when I remembered you better.
In the haze of growing up, all
things become further away,
the spirit loses sight of itself
where your face is printed like fading picture.
Newspaper, crumpled and yellowed
contains something... a picture
of boys running in the forest
with glinted and thunderstorming eyes
and a yearning for what things
should be like,
love gushing as twigs snap,
That was what it was like to remember;
To look at the world and say this is not enough, and
this is amazing, because it reminds us of something.
You are the dream before life,
the one every child wakes up
to tell the world about -- the one
each of us expected to see when we first came here,
the one whom we have been grasping for
with our tiny hands.