To understand forgetting is no mistake at all.


The vague memory you have before actually
Having the memory, it needs access to identity
But not even yours: just identity, brutal
Mnemonics and/or a few flat desires

For instance, your parents travel so far to sit in
Melancholy patience, to witness the continent
Devouring Western works, to be near those
Regretting their poverty over generations
And not just years: so you may ask, why seek

Others at all? Are they really here for your
Distraction, like trees whose names you do not
Need to know, just that they are pines, visible
Against your tiredness and the rain that keeps

Punishing a need to travel for such supposedly
Unforgettable views: on silence, bright ruins
And that finery able and willing to stabilize us
With memories birthed from lightning in the soil

While here, a story: a small grey cat enters the
Chassis of a parked Fiat and will not emerge

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