Memories flicker like lights
in the fire, in the windows’ reflections,
and their reflections of each other’s light,
dimmer, smaller, greener
in more distant iterations

The lights were real, and they still are,
however faintly I perceived them then,
however tenuous they may seem now

They may not light or warm me on their own,
but they do show me
the constancy of light through all my times,
which, when I turn to now,
lights up my present,
and also all the tunnels of my past.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 4, 2023