remembering as breath

memory is not a road behind you

remembering is not a road behind you,
not a gate opening onto dust,
not old faces kept
like portraits in a dim room.

it is the living instant,
suddenly lucid,
touching its own face
and finding it warm.

what you call then
is a small tremor
moving through the present,
as a ripple moves through water
without leaving it.

a scent lifts.
a name passes.
grief returns with clean hands.

and in that returning
nothing travels.
the present leans closer
to what it already is.

the past is not retrieved.
it is dissolved,
as salt dissolves on the tongue,
until taster and taste
are one clear brightness.

to remember
is not to go back.

it is awareness,
standing where it always stands,
recognising itself
in the familiar light of being.

as flame knows flame,
by warmth alone.

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