There are moments,
he said, when everything
is suddenly clear,
and obvious to me.
But they slip away
and their shadows
She said, if you’d stop
looking for the fog,
the clarity might linger.
Besides, she adds
how do you know
what is clear
and what is not.
Slipping away into the night
the absence isn’t noticeable
and by the time you discover
the disappearance, it is too late,
and there is nothing at all
that can be done, so
you move onto the next thing
and the thing after that,
and memory will fade slowly,
until none is left.
If it was ever here
no one recalls
or why, if it was, it chose to leave.
As a child he had a magical power.
He didn’t like to use it, didn’t want others
to know he had it, certainly couldn’t share it.
He wasn’t certain when it began to fade,
but he noticed the power diminished as he grew,
as he learned more about the world,
and there was absolutely nothing he could do
to stop or even slow its diminution.
He knew he would miss it, knew he
would always remember it even when
there was no longer a trace of it.
He stopped thinking about it as life
engulfed him in its ever-present moments.
Every once in a while he would pause
and remember it with fondness for
innocence is not something you lose willingly.