iostream II
the smell of the airplane over the atlantic
ocean reminded me more of past lovers, and
there is likelihood to remembering this not
as it is but rather as it will be, or rather
won't.
paris smelled like easter in florida two (three?) years
before my grandmother died. this is the way
with smells, and maybe with memories, that we cannot
really place where & when they came from.
it seems to each one that this poem might
be about her, and maybe sometimes it is about her,
and maybe i have felt the same way about everyone,
but those are the kinds of sentiments that break hearts.
these days we keep such meticulous
records in so transient a place.
and all our capital letters won't get us anywhere.
and all our unsent letters never got us far.
and we loved each other, i think (at least) that's fair.
and what is truly remarkable is how wise we all are,
before we are even wizened, staring
into some blue glow, shining mirror, to see ourselves
as we should hope we were,
and i hoped we were,
and perhaps i still do.
ocean reminded me more of past lovers, and
there is likelihood to remembering this not
as it is but rather as it will be, or rather
won't.
paris smelled like easter in florida two (three?) years
before my grandmother died. this is the way
with smells, and maybe with memories, that we cannot
really place where & when they came from.
it seems to each one that this poem might
be about her, and maybe sometimes it is about her,
and maybe i have felt the same way about everyone,
but those are the kinds of sentiments that break hearts.
these days we keep such meticulous
records in so transient a place.
and all our capital letters won't get us anywhere.
and all our unsent letters never got us far.
and we loved each other, i think (at least) that's fair.
and what is truly remarkable is how wise we all are,
before we are even wizened, staring
into some blue glow, shining mirror, to see ourselves
as we should hope we were,
and i hoped we were,
and perhaps i still do.