a memory that will keep nothing
is an unexpected blessing.
filled to brim years ago
it is apt to reject the new—

faces and names are hopeless,
tastes and smells have to be
particularly foul or fine
to find a grudging slot.

tempers and passions aren’t
altogether missing, yet
my skin and tongue swear
they know more than my mind.

no old lies, truths or poetry
light recognition in my eyes;
but what a gift their vanishing,
permitting gasps and wonderment

anew and over, each time we meet.


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