memories can be bright torches that can burn the chest or show a new path

seeing them at dawn

the throat dries up as if the desire

will get stuck between the dark and the light

between regrets and forgiveness

what many call the end

they can be dancing steps of brand new twists

also stabbing like the dagger

before being struck deadly

they may be announcements of a better breeze

that raises the stuck sails

that invites the waves to caress the rusty edges

they can be promises or judgments

but none can change what was

memories are ashes in the wind

or soft snowflakes

falling into hot hands.