It Meant at the Time

Not only are the massive
Majority of moments
You’ve lived lost to memory,

But the shards you remember
Are mostly small and haunting,
Reshaped only with effort

Into minor anecdotes
To make it seem narrative
Is native to memory

When it’s not. Memories gleam,
Soaked in reflective
Emotions, fragments, the thoughts

That flutter like cilia,
Nudging souls this way and that.