Somehow


I know when it's time
To visit the house
Of someone I met
Only once, and briefly
         At that.

I know when it's time
To go upstairs and browse
Through the volumes on
Her bedroom shelf,
Pulling down familiar ones
         And gazing at
         The illustrations.

Somehow I find the time
To go not only forward
But behind, staking out
The faces and the places
         I recall.

What I set aside
One season long ago
Is still alive and welcomes
         My return.

Each day I learn a little more
About the value of events
         Before and in
         The present tense.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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