Mental Archeology

[tictactoe]

A blueprint of memory lost
have I dredged up from the muck
these forgotten depths I will listen
and chase after these whispery words

Who has the right to tell me
their value as I pull hand-over-hand
to find the salvageable something
which is rightfully mine.

A persistence of memory insists
there must be more than this,
the reclaimation of a single relic
that will weave sense of this thing.

What is there left to find?
As I seek to retrieve what is mine
It is in the middle I find my lesson
in the diamond hardness of that moment.