Waking at night,
besieged by memories,
I hear the clock chime
the hours and half-hours,
put my mind to making
sentences, counting
the syllables, hoping
next day to jot them down.
Memory snaps they may be,
and who to check them with? -
now that my sister's gone -
true or imagined?
no-one's here or anywhere
to gainsay what I say.
That's the old ones -
as for more recent years,
memories of them seem -
sparse, colourless,
neither here nor there...
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