Storehouse Guests

While gazing at a simple flower,
he ponders the imponderable,
challenging his memory;
imagined or actual?

How slippery these reflections from youth,
when what is recalled in these later years
may merely be what was desired in younger years.

He blinks the moisture from his eyes,
not wanting to obscure what is left of the fading images,
of waning sensory awareness.

Finally…

He invites the jester to sit beside him,
where together they might enjoy what’s left
with today’s visitation of his temporal clock,
the ever-fading ticks and tocks
whenever he picks a flower,
stares,
and weeps
as smiles envelop his face

as he nods to his storehouse guests of the mind.