I’m fighting myself. I know I am.
One minute I want to remember.
The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting.
One minute I want to feel.
The next minute I never want to feel again.
Slowly the morning climbs towards the day.
As for the poem, not this poem but any
poem, do you feel its sting? Do you
feel its hope, its entrance to a community? Do
you feel its hand in your hand?