Memento

I jumble up the hours and the days
Remembering sometimes a year ago,
Sometimes a moment. Each memory stays,
Unwelcome visitor, until I know
Exactly where it came, where it will go,
What use I ought to make of it, and why,
What light on present issues it can throw,
And where within my bosom it will lie.
From all of these I craft a sense of I,
And turn its focus ever onto you;
I can recall each time you made me cry,
And whether I was glad about it, too.
But mostly I recall, no matter when,
That smile of yours, and wish for it again.