Remembering to Forget

and the message

went on for what

may have been

an hour or more

in a voice

detached

that i knew

with words

i had not heard

before but

understood as if

they had been

calling for a long

while from a place

i had once traveled

where i had left behind

a part of me

that was

living in the gray

distance

safe and alone and

now coming home

with its longing

to pay respects

and a young doe

stood in the

last shadows

of the old sycamores

watching with no

fear only an interest

passing like time

into what was

going down

and the first

tick of the season

climbed

the trousers

on my left leg

as i lifted

myself up

the stairs

to my back door

on my way

to the familiar

to a shower

to bed

and the sleep

of forgetting