I remember the truth
like a warm week in December
never made for leaving
sheltered from the rain

and who said dreams
made in night time
all forgotten
could not stand
as a moment moving on

I remember the truth
in the smallest sacred places
glaring in plain view
shuffled off the ends

and who are you
thinking one thing
worth the keeping
all shuffled away so
no one ever knew

I remember, you
saying one thing
or another, listing
from view then sinking
toward an end

and who am I
when the life boat's
gone a drifting
never quite in reach
in the warm December sea