RUUT DEMEO

I remember how 

the light hit the paper 

through a large, clean window 

trees, swaying, drunk on October 

winds, how the light played with 

my focus, its morning gleam, and

the shifting blots of curved shadows 

leaping onto the table, onto 

the blank, white sheet

 

a memory. so large.

​

what can I do

when some moment wants to have its 

way with me?

​

And even without answers, how 

some tests in life return, with them 

always an unpredicted play of light 

 

I can memorize 

but not choose if

it is worth 

remembering