“Memory and forgetting,
two versions of the same story.”
~ Eugene Gloria
If you think you have surely come to the bottom of the bowl and nothing else
could ever fill it again, why does the silverware gleam so kindly?
If night is a mattress filled with buckwheat and sheeted in linen,
why does the body perch on the narrow ledge of the warm radiator?
If you had two of the same thing,
would you give the other away?
If two of the same thing really make only one thing,
would giving it away mean you get to keep its shadow?
If one thing shone in your mind like a beautiful bird flying into a clearing,
would you desire to approach it with a leash?
If the intellect is a muscle, is the heart the arrow
that whistles quietly until it finds its mark?