Fireworks in the Courtyard

Time chews up memories like pomegranate seeds,
swallowing them with whispers of voices that won’t return,
breaking them, reassembling them into lucid fragments,
and on the floor of night they shine, tiny and sharp.
Then it spits them out into the courtyard of night like fireworks
bursting red, green, golden, in a clamor of glass and rain,
every gleam reveals lost faces and promises,
while the sky, accomplice, applauds time that never ceases to tell its tale.