I created memories from thin air,
Breathing deeply while you were near,
And hid them inside me,
Whispy popcorn balls of smell and touch.
When I later tried
To hold them in my hands,
The memories erupted
Into dreams and imagination.
The clouds crept in,
The darkest shade I had ever seen.
Swift, as though weightless,
Even though their chests brimmed with water.
They breathed on the mountain
Drafts of cool, turbulent air,
Suffusing the world with grey –
The trees, the flowers and memory too.
The mountain tried
To hold them in her valleys,
But the clouds burst
Onto the hungry, silver mountain.
Waterfalls gush down the mountain side
For days afterwards – a gift of the clouds;
And tears down my face,
For the dreams and imagination never end.