the day before it
before it can move on
even if only intermittently
move on to the next
semi-eternal moment
recapitulates by a strange
alchemy we call memory it’s
morning who picks and choses
even if only randomly
betraying some intent
even if what we call
memory is all we’ve got
to sort through is another
pensive thought even if
whatever our eyes fall on
we bless even as we’re cursed
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