personal memories rise.
rain, trembling in a container.
over doing nothing for the past.
we are new.
we are not sad, we are shells.
nothing counts.
the day is long and light.
curves around us, into
us, as us
curves slow, maybe
missed, may be
we recite ourselves.
up, palms grit on the old ground.
we don't press our faces down.
we convene (and leave)
It means nothing.
nothing counts
more than now