Monday, May 20, 2013

The Odd Way of Memory.

I often cannot remember
what I was going to say,
like it's gotten away.

I find myself
lost in conversation,
temporarily

in daydream,
thinking perhaps
about the space

on our crooked front walk
where weed breaks concrete
with unmistakable beauty,

then the neighbor's wood gate 
squeaks before it slams
and I remember...

this morning as you slept,
you exhaled loudly.  I thought
it was a message.

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