It was a memory
I forgot
Wrapped in saffron
Curtained by thought
Like a fragile egg
Hatched in the morning sun
Taking wing
on a shroud of saffron
It’s not important which painful memory it was
But that it was wrapped in saffron and carried by doves
Into the morning light…
Should I stay in a vein I can’t sustain?
Or fly, consenting to die?
I let the memory go
Probably containing too much ego
It’s not important what memory it was
But that it was wrapped in saffron and carried by doves
On a sunbeam
to wherever dead memories go…
Copyright 2013/Stephen Scheff