Memory

i

I picked up a dead rat
by its tail, buried
it in my backyard,

continued riding
my bike into adulthood.


ii

Life and death are connected
and they aren't—
a robin's mournful song
embraces all seasons
in one note.


iii

Laura was six
when we went to that waterfall
in deep Umbrian woods;

a pond
of freezing water
below.

We challenged each
other to jump,
but never did.


iv

Remembering
is a bit like taking chances.

I'd rather journey through
dreamy in-betweens,

the little clouds.


v

You want to be
a child again,

begin your journeys
right now

crying, laughing
it doesn't matter--

such a quiet night
the stars tremble
in our voices.