and we mourn for those lost boulevards of Paris,
or the goatpaths of Greece, and the canals of Venice,
yet another place among many where I’ve never been.
Lost stars keep sifting through the hourglass of time.
What finds us is not the keeping of memory that’s at stake,
but it takes it away, asking not what it can do for you
but what is more than enough for you,
or perhaps it’s all too much to remember.
2/22/23 Write On! Terri Glass
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