Memory is a wisp of a thing

She swirls up like smoke and dances away with a giggle 

Like a child playing hide and seek.

And when she chooses, she will alight upon you

But only as a whisper, or a thought like a ribbon

Entwined in a song 

Or a scent 

Or the sound of a stranger's laugh.

'Come and find me' she says

With her basket full of breadcrumbs 

Each piece a tiny portion of a story you can't quite grasp;

Details awash with feeling 

Truths turned to dreams

Hazy joy and pin points of sorrow.

Never as clear as the moment itself 

But still enough to quicken a breath, or swell a heart

Still enough to pass on to another 

And if you are lucky, your recollections become one

Puzzle pieces found, hollows becoming whole. 

But it's never enough to capture her completely 

That wisp of a thing 

With history in her hands, truths in her pockets

And a vanishing in her step.