Echoes.

You hear your voice

Rolling in like thunder The sound returning home Like that cat you thought lost Appearing at your door Looking innocent and bereaved.

You shout to the sky and it comes back to you Bouncing off the horizon Like a distant bell saying That you exist And not a static piece Wearily playing some regal game.

Memory can be like that echo At once a real thing Yet also a dream half-remembered In the misty morning; Wondering if lessons learned Settle in for the winter The second time around.