REAL REMEMBRANCE the wind as the weather changes there mighty and soon here and mighty too too long for the plains to contain working like fingers over the curvature of the land probing without knowing why it probes I think of the small tree I saw every sunday across the road from our church in my mind its shape is bent and curved from standing alone at the top of its little hump of dirt we would call a hill and on the head it barely raised possibly I remember a covering of flowers thrown in spring in the warm wind all down the side of the hill to splash against the stone markers in the graveyard and did I dream it or just now envision or did it actually happen that sometimes a name was blown off a stone and came tumbling at us across the lawn as we left through the double doors after services us so few and now mainly dead and me no longer there I think I recall how I got here it feels I am pressed by the wind into the box of wood I live in
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