at an airport I collected sound
slices of life,
the gurgle of wine
a muffled laugh
howling wind, a joke about five or six hippopotamus and Jesus
a crinkle of plastic bags
a Frenchman almost hit by lightning
conversational threads weaving in and out.
glass smashing
The rest flowed away.
have I misremembered?
it is like revisiting a memory with a crack down its middle
and so
we can only tell ourselves stories to remember