I cannot choose which memories to thaw,
which ones to harden back to stone
and which to savor like a lover's touch.
The drippings of my past
are echoed off the ice-blue walls.
A symphony of sounds re-heard
past empty rooms and barren halls.

Drops glisten in the full-mooned night,
reflected tenfold,
ice and light,
divided by the days to come,
to show the beauty of their flight.
Walk on, I think.
Walk on I do,
since walking brings me close to you.