We don’t remember everything.
But when we meet it’s awkward, and there’s a
Lot we pretend to quietly understand—
We go home and dip inside ourselves, trying to
Pry it out, like change from the seat of a recliner,
Or hair from a stopped drain.
There was an eleventh commandment
And it had something to do with the color blue:
Perhaps it was the pailletted aura of the sun and
The possibility that it was
Point A in the whole sky.
Or, more likely it was how we ought to grieve. How
The heavens should fill our eyes all the way,
And how our eyes should blink, too,
And thank the heavens.
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