Your hair seemed redder
Across the courtyard
Your hair seemed redder
Than I remembered.
I remembered. What is that?
A memory:
Strings of neurons on fire
Blinding desire.
Desire stumbling
Without a guide
Dog.
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born
The little window where the sun
Came creeping in at morn.
But “peep”, not “creep”,
Cretin memory.
Your hair seemed redder
You were oblivious
You were with your mother
And your children
The sun was shining.
I held my daughter’s hand
And tried to listen
To whatever urgent
Thought she had.
But your hair seemed redder
And I was lost.
