The strangest things are inherited.

I wonder if time knows of decay or if,
it being the constant by which we reckon our lives,
it is eternity like the stars, fixed in their places
on the crystalline sphere far away we can see
but never comprehend.

I looked at myself in the mirror today and realized that
even if he is a conservative and cannot understand
how I want to live my life, or what I do when I'm alone.
Nor can he comprehend my rebellious streak
(the one that goes against society, not particulars,
he could never understand particulars)
or my propensity for intellectualism
(an -ism among others he chooses not to subscribe to).

But, even with all these differences, today I realized I looked like him.
I walked with my toothbrush to the front door to close it
after the dogs had come in, and when I returned
to the bathroom mirror, I held my toothbrush
the same way he did in his mouth, I remember.
The strangest things are inherited.

I don't think he would understand this, either.

Lightest Snowfall

There is part of your memory now mixed in
with the lightest snowfall I have ever seen.
Driving slowly past your street listening to music
(not your favorite,
but I could never find any you didn't like.)
and wondering if everything that happened has blame to lay
at my feet or at yours.  I like to think we all break our own hearts.

If, if, if, if, if,
but the past changes everything.
Even when the power of your deep eyes over me,
your stories of things I never wanted to go through,
the mixxed up half truthes that fluttered around my head
in a time when I'd rather take a few shots of anything
then think too long on where I'd got to.

How can these singular snowflakes evoke
memories of us when we were a Summer love?
Everything I see is conected.