Grain

Echoes of my childhood scatter,
scatter on the night breeze,
tumble-toss like dandelion clocks
over forgotten fields of bleached smiles
- flaxen seeds on fragile stems
I cannot catch.

In vivid dreams I chase murmurings,
trip over atoms of the past.
Lost faces blink at me. I snatch
the edge of dimmed voices,
a father's 'all is well'.