Memory and Swallowing

Fetch your little bit of bliss
Wherever you can find it,
Prowling memory’s palace.

Every memory’s a lie
In that it is a construct
Of a lost state of affairs,

A pattern no longer there,
But that just makes it something
That is of its own accord,

Something that can be explored.
You can wander its poorly
Lit hallways of blurred details,

Spend hours in some of the more
Achingly enjoyable
And blindingly bright old rooms,

Or head to a balcony
Overhanging the present,
Get your nose close to just now,

The sun in this very room
And inhale, inhale deeply
As you can. Remember this?