My feet are cold down here
In this basement of vague mold
Walled with enough books to fill
A lost dreams happy times bookstore.
Matthew is talking as his long iron shears
Slice a limp magazine photo in half
Red dress smiling brunette coming to life.
He is talking as he works,
Telling some story about a visit to a friend and a
Subsequent poetry reading.
His ability to recall details surprises me as well
As the facility with which he wrangles the
Language. Again it is his memory. He remembers
Everything. I realize that is how we are different.