I’ve heard elders mid-memory say a long time ago”

like a time chain winding up from wet depths

Now it’s my turn of assumption and image past would gleam like the final scene does in stilling

If only each link unbroke leaving a line leading to form of screen, integral like one’s youth nearby.

Sometimes I surrender to Descartes my stained lenses of brain and the rest of the sensual machine disappoints

with its incapacity to generate visual memory though the cogitatio hasn’t considered opening the build