I can recognise my mother, but I can't see her.
Or stumbling up a knoll, "it's time to go,"
and trip and fall and smell the grass, and push the cold
ground away with my hands.
She's in her thirties and she's smiling, and I smile back.
I slipped in a pool once. "Don't run!"
The phantasmagoric shadows and their warbled screams
An arm cuts the water; a moment of clarity where each
fingerprint is seen.
You might die and you think, "they're all separate yet together"
Or so I'm told.