Dima
Selflessly buried in archives deep
Dig up
And unfurl the fabric of fractured sleep
Driven forth by the demons of transparency
Paleology
An alphabet evolving constantly
Perhaps a closed door
For a grieving family
Who know simply but with no specificity
There's nothing worse
Than a song in the head never put to tape
The palimpsest of unrealized dreams
Entire existence wiped clean
From paper and sanitized
"The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting."¹