The Great Forgetting

Stilled history—

Stripped hands and rubber

from jungles,

tangled ankles and a sunset

that blanketed oceans.

This time of year if you blink too slowly

the sun will set. And all that tends to happen

in clear daylight receds, curling itself under

water, taking a breath.

You forgot tickets in that drawer I wish I

could build. One day when I discover

what my hands can craft I’ll reprint

what’s worth remembering.

And why is it that books are filled with so many stories?

We cannot keep them all—our belongings heavy and whole.

So I removed a pebble from my bag and like wings, could

carry everything again.