it is not possible
for the days to blend
together

as each moment
is fresh
like fresh cut leather
(no wait, fresh cut leather
would be animal skin-)
so fresh
like the wet cracked sheet
of something beautiful,
molded around
the frame of a drum.

remember how
you made them in memory of her.

each second is a new formation
of destiny

remember how the rough, wet gravel
felt between your toes?
how the surprise rose
from your mothers' throat
when you said "i'll do it!" took off
your shoes, rolled up your pants and stepped
- without inhibition -
into a crate of mud, rocks, cement
remember
how you made wine
beneath your clumsy feet.

what a strange feeling, forgetting;
where is it
going?
let the essence of those memories,
of the things that make you
who you are
echo through your eyes
in conversation.
forget instead,
the unknown. coming. forget the question.
for in forgetting you are lost,
you are found.
in forgetting,

you

just

are

and that is the ultimate answer.