Shmatos gone from the park

Recycled like January/February snow in March

Melted like CreamSicles in August or July

The wind would have taken them sooner

But the lintels held them like laundry flapping

Until the crew tore everything apart

The shmatos & the frames that held them

Trapped confetti passed on to another life

Visceral bits of orange hanging on

Not unlike snow wobbles

Onto children’s tongues

Melts even before the taste comes

Fresh memories hold onto

Change what they have to

To keep the past intact

Or a sand painting intricate design & many colors

Painted over the course of how many days

One grain of sand at a time

A wind comes and takes the details away

As the wind should

One grain at a time

Until only hazy white memories remain

Of color melted into color

Color no longer in need of a name