Remembering

by Michael Keeling

I wish I could remember
how we lay,
the veil of trees,
hair ruffled
by the breeze.

I wish I could remember
vapour trails,
arrow-straight in the sky,
musing us
to places gone by.

I wish I could remember
walks on the beach,
talks in the park;
how we sat huddled
long after dark.

I wish I could remember
music we played,
the lingering night
and falling asleep
in dawn’s shrouded light.

But the sorrows I’ve caused,
the expressions of pain
and the blood that I’ve let.
These are the things
I wish I could forget.

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