The heartbreaking thing is not the forgetting,

the sudden lightning strike of loss that finds

its home in your tingling hairs as they raise their

arms to the sky in prayer, oh no, it’s the storage,

the coding, the inherent act of almost unbelievable

disintegration, a system, to be sure, in which acts of such

cataclysmic importance turn to silhouette, and yes,

now that first kiss cannot help but resemble the lyrics

of some popular melody once the frame of reference

is set, the birth of your child is only an axiom or nursery

rhyme, and if only your neural vocabulary was as skilled

as the sweeping symphonies of your erstwhile heart,

to think that you could hold the prism in your palm

forever, light dancing upon the wall with mischief and life.