Cracks

It's probably the lost nostalgia
The bitter holes torn in memory,
Faces left blank,
Things unknown,
And countless snow flakes
Melting to tears.

If the missing could be restored,
The cracks repaired,
The wrinkles undone,
Who will I be?
Whispers and open wounds?
Thoughtlessness renewed?
Or such a being of infinity?

But forgetting takes shape.
Brings pain and yet joy.
For the snow that turns to spring.
The becoming of joy from the cold, is the cracks repaired.