I remember things while they are happening.
Twice a day there is a seam in the fabric,
where God owned "indecisive"
and the sun and moon vie for power
and definitions lose reliability,
because nightlights and daysprings sometimes meet
soft as hair on cheek.
But after these things occur,
I lose my memory like I lose my car keys.
I'd be better off without them,
or it,
anyway,
because automobiles only hold stale air
and pasts have sat still long enough
to be fit for the clearance rack.
For me, forgetfulness is not so much a skill
as it is a deliberated discipline.
I like to have favorite articles of clothing
to wear too often
the way I like my Bible tattered.
Only a few things are worth remembering
past the immediate
and perhaps it is for this reason
I am not a great writer,
not for my youth,
not for my faith,
not for my lack of brokenness,
but for my selective belief in worthy moments.
One day I will ask God
to expand his indecision,
for in the heaven-sky's rift
I am very determined to find meaning
in all things.
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1 comment:
This is the beginning of Danielle's new style isn't it?
The second generation of poems,
I'm scared of what is going to happen, your last stanza here is especially beautiful.
I feel a lot of gilbert along with dustin in this poem.
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