They come and they go,
these words and phrases
from languages once known,
now mostly forgotten.

They come and they go,
these remnants of the past.
Morning tosses them up
from the waves of dreams,
flotsam on the shore
of remembering.

They come and they go,
a confusion of broken tongues.
They say something like
remember when…?
But the bits and pieces
never reassemble
into meaning.

They come and they go,
these words that promise all
yet reveal nothing.
And the present,
the ever-churning present,
drowns out all hope
of understanding.

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