PROUST WAS A NEUROSCIENTIST

The tick-tock of the clock

drowns out the murmur of the mind.

He lost himself

writing, writing, writing,

describing the memory

of reality:

the texture of a napkin,

noise of water in the pipes,

a buttery cookie

flavored with lemon zest,

and the steam from

a limpid cup of tea.

Intuitively, he knew

how taste and smell endure.

Now science has learned

they are the best senses

to summon up the past.

He understood that time

mutates memory,

and remembrance

of things past is imperfect.

Recollections are a phony fabrication.

Now we know synapses

are crossed out

and dendrites tweaked

to revise memorized moments.

The past is never past.

Our memories

are wonderfully volatile.

We see ourselves

in their mercurial mirror

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