Meditation on Decades
Dilemmas I faced years ago déjà vu–a sparrow in my bedroom hits the ceiling fan. I whistle at the bird–its bright eye gleams. Not again. When I open the door, it flies a straight line to winter. Years ago, I broomed it out. If the weather turns, I recall beloved faces no longer here –a late tide of the lost. Are those only false memories? Let’s talk about how good you look today. Amnesia whirls to the mouth of a river washed in silver oolong light.