what can i do

what can i do
to keep you near and dear
as i am swallowed by the past?
perhaps to shout
and hope that you will hear my voice
above the white noise of the space around?
an echo, here and there
to slice the night.
perhaps to send an image
on a butterfly
with a quick flutter of a wing?
a mix of colors
to awake the art.
perhaps to try and draw out
in a bucket from the well
the twirling memory of
thirst for water from the past.
will it bring back
the soreness of our muscles
when we rowed, the swollen legs
when we run up and down the mountains
or in the burning sand,
the flashing lights of summer nights?
the list i made is long, the time is short
and sometimes i would like to turn
those lists into the sounds of echoes
(and shout them out and loud)
so that they come back