The Art of Forgetting (day 1035)

Even visitors don’t bring lost songs
As they wipe their muddy shoes
At my open doors.
Like angels losing faith
I roam from here to you.

Along my back door, trails:
Straight out from here,
Switch crossing deeper into the woods.
I catch your disguise
Lost in my naked eyes.

Because I don’t know the answer.
I don’t know why we laugh
At birds feeding hungry.
I don’t know why I hear you
When you think long and
Deep into hollow’s eve
Flickering against the softness.

To catch me is your effort I praise;
Perhaps my missing piece,
My soul’s mate.
But long dropped baskets
Keeps staring at me.

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