Preserving the Past

Memory, jettisoned
Upon a threaded muse
To spin, weave
Tall tales of the day:

Gathered spools, it falls
A pearly pool, cotton cream
Burning at the night,

Wise ones hide
Among the fringe,
Tangling through, running
Until they hang like silk.

This will all fade,
Firm tapestry upon stone.
Still, the walls remain.