The people you grew up with,
Scattered like Autumn leaves from the same tree,
Some from the very same branch,
Other from across the tree.
No matter how far the wind blows you away from the tree,
In a quantum universe,
You are still entangled.
The memory of the branches that bound you,
Of Springtime and budding,
Washed in same rains,
Of the rustling winds of Summer nights,
The shared glow of fireflies and stars,
And Autumn's cool frost and bluster.
No matter how we crumble and mulch and scatter,
You are the originals,
And I remember.
By: Daniel A. Stafford