Where did it go
the fragile pieces of seaglass
that stained the skin
underneath 
our fingernails
these dreams were ours
the sort of ours that disappears
with the crescendo of passion
and the legatto of farewells
still I cannot wipe the memories of 
the Librarian
I carry books around
hording them like treasures
the Sound Engineer 
urging me to collect cassettes and 8 tracks
the one who gave her life
to try and save a distant culture
the mother who never gave up
we had a vision
the immense amount of her
that has taught me
it all
slips into oblivion
as the days grow longer
and my life shorter