Event

The writing bug, like too many bugs, bit me much too late in life, somewhere around my thirtieth birthday. Very little of that writing has been poetry, but just this same, I wrote this one before any of that, about ten years ago. It's not much in the way of mechanics, but I still like the image behind it. --K

Event
My memories are events
Images--frozen in four dimensions
Stilled contortions of reality
Liquid suspended in air
A voice captured in its ululation
All devoid of background and out of cntext
Laughing as a child
A fraternal ritual
A smiling woman stroking my knee.

Just several points
On the invisible grid of space-time.
An intersection of the surfaces
Of our existence
Existing still at that point.
At that event
And somehow observable
By the machinations of my memory.