Stuck to the floor on summer feet
that house turned to a memory
I still dream of being a kid in the lake
with my little sister miles away
and this dream, it lives in her, too
we are made of the same
we never need to explain
There is no turning
there is no back at all
pictures are patterns
burned up in the sprawl
of time rushing forward
old light in atmosphere
now there is no then
there is only here
Rachel Browne 