A Memory of the Future
I will say tree, not pine tree. I will say flower, not forsythia. I will see birds, many birds, flying in four directions. Then rock and cloud will be lost. Spring will be lost. And, most terribly, your name will be lost. I will revel in a world no longer particular. A world made vague, as if by fog. But not fog. Vaguely aware, I will wander at will. I will wade deeper into wide water. You’ll see me, there, out by the horizon, an old gray thing,…… More »
