It’s not just recalling something otherwise lost. 

It’s not even remembering what’s there to remember.

It’s running your cold hand under colder water and 

making notes about what kind eyes your reflection has. 

I’m not saying you will have kindness there, but 

just noticing is kindness,

and either way the water bill can’t run as high

as your hormones at sixteen, or your friend or father’s

legs could help them jump… I’ve been noticing

little ironies in your speech lately, like ‘It’s not about

recalling something lost, it’s just finding your way

through a corn field on an overcast night’ –

Too many ears and stalks to touch them all, yet making way

for carrion by morning. See, it’s not the wind that finds you

it’s you that finds the wind. 

    Oh. Pain in a dream is just like

dental work. You get the crumbs of agony here and there

but on the other end will thank your loose memory –

Looser still than a blackberry rotting on its stem, or better yet,

cockles at the end of their tenancy. When each bud is squeezed

you take in new flavours, might just tighten your thumb

around the punctured thorn – new fuel mixing with new fuel.