My rise to the fall

My rise to the fall,
the whisper of willowed words waving
in a wind yet blowing,
the calm clarity of surface
dreaming reflections
realities not understood in currents unseen,
lingering on scents mystifying
mice men with miniature mandolins,
playing sweet songs of melodies, I
can’t remember because my former
self forgot to leave a memo to the message
I was suppose to entertain, restrain, and refrain,
across horizons of blue ink and white salted skin;
an impossible poem unwritten.