by Nathaniel Beyer
A feather fallen from the forehead,
A name forgotten. The face of a person
Passed in the street, the lips and eyes
Faded, only the swell of the breast,
A rise around the waist remembered.
Everything else discarded like
Afternoon sunlight. Diaphanous,
A thin curtain across a bright window,
Vague shapes beyond, the remnants of all
Longing into being, being into memory,
Memory into dust, a few seconds held
In vague shape: a night, a whisper,
A hand felt on the thigh,
A moon moving across the sky.
