Speak, my brother, of angels half-remembered,
almost forgotten; of voices whose timbres
bounce analog memories from ears
to cells and back again to memory.
Speak, so that I may remember, even though
the sharpest of my recollections will be
limited by the silences between your words.
It is easy enough to memorialize through
words and possessions, but the tangibility
of a vanished existence relies on the
remembrance of pauses between word and word;
hesitations between word and glance.
It is the spaces between that transform
recollection into memory,