two trees of me

memory is a hammock 

made from threads of the past

woven into a somewhat stable mishmash

strong enough to endure 

the weight of a now resting

but capable of aging and fading 

without any constancy 

of attention or concern

it is tied between these two trees

the tree of private self 

and the tree of public self

they are not of the same kind

public tree has height, 

colorful leaves annually

inviting branches facing all directions

private tree is a conifer-like

shielded from see-through sight 

produces cones of inner delight

occasionally dropped for others to discover

my hear is to the tall, wide-spread 

my heart dedicated to the evergreen

I look deeply into the pine while lying there

re-experiencing 

what can't obviously be seen

memories that have no shared surface 

with others

but fill with the scent of self-intimacy

the hammock made of woven time

has a levity to it 

that comes in the form 

of a gravity induced embrace

restfully I let the words leave

that pronounce what I am feeling

it is as if my eyes close 

to the outworld for then

comfy gives way

vast swaddles me 

as dreamlike initiates breaths for me

while I, in levity, immerse and reflect

what of memory is this drug of now?

that has an intoxicating fragrance 

of unscentedness devouring and attracting

I taste without tactile

I sense without seeing

I feel without merit or reward

somewhat muted 

but marvelous in passing

just a memory as breeze

stunningly simple in re-vision

slung between these two trees of me . . .