all day as I walk
I practice the art
of forgetting—
which means all day I remember
what I wish to forget
*
that rock
I’ve been carrying—
every time I put it down
I find it again
in my other pocket
*
these thoughts
wear the strangest shoes—
no heel, no toe,
trying to track them
I see they go both ways at once
*
caught in a tunnel
with a fire at both ends—
now would be
a perfect time
to learn to dig
*
in the end
there is no rock, no shoes,
no tunnel no fire—
there is only the art
of loving the one who remembers