THE HAND IS THE ONE THAT REMEMBERS...

The hand is the one that remembers
The travels through the years,
And it disembogues into the present
Always remembering.
It scribbles down, all shaken,
That which lay forgotten.
Memory’s hand,
Always at the rescue.
The ghostly images
Will then harden, and
Start telling who they were,
And why they are back.
Why they were but dream’s fodder,
Sheer nostalgic matter.
And the hand rescues this all
From its magical limbo.