Energy of Place

Memory almost killed you.

Cryonic preservation of the floral bud of your remembrance.
Discarding the coarse stem, the gangling roots intertwined
with other herbaceous species, loose soil, and loaded with entomological squatters.

You were encased in a crystal bulb, illuminated evenly,
without even a shadow to cast in the elite gallery of
sentimental nostalgia.

I went back and stumbled upon you again.
You bore no resemblance to the hostage of my recollection,
and yet I was gripped by your undeniable identity.
The energy of your being thrust itself upon me. I forgot how strong you are.

The air felt different, the colors skewed to another part of the spectrum,
but the electromagnetic waves emanating from this far-flung geographical pinpoint declared your presence.

From the earth. Indignant moment — as if I should’ve known better.

An unmistakable pungency that convinced every alveoli in my chest
that each second, you live, as a new shape.

(As do I.)

The past tries to sequester with white-knuckle grip but is, at best, a jester. The Place re-manifests, contorts, expands, and captures new hues.

With clear thoughts, I must come back again to plunge anew into your now. Here we are, taking sips from the gushing rapid.

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