a memory

there's a gap between the world
and the time I spend watching it go by.
loosened by the heat,
I feel it fall apart.

     what do you remember about the summer?

the silence, yeah, I always remember the silence.
at night, especially at night.
sitting on the hot bed with a sweaty nape
watching the light stream through the cracks
between the curtains.

if somebody asks i remember that, and the rain,
maybe the sea, the heat.
but time, no; not time, 

or people. 

there's almost always nothing there
that I should carry forward
into my memories.