A starving wolf called memory,
Walking alone on the glacial plains
of what was once known as paradise.

His pads being cut by the icy shards
of what was once our feelings,
painfully he moves on.

Bleeding, each step marking his passage,
each step - more memory left behind,
each step - more memory ... lost.

He glances upwards and howls,
He spies a pearl on black velvet,
casually cast amongst the diamonds of infinity.

He howls again, trying to invoke the presence,
a ghost, a spark of the warmth that was once
so much a part of this sacred place.

This isolated and barren place
drains his life essence from him,
he becomes weak and starts to stumble.

He falls, drifting into oblivion
as so many memories do,
Sleeping - waiting ...

Awaiting the next instant ... yet to occur,
to breathe life back into his being, creating the spark
that might bring life back to Eden again.