make kindling
out of memory,
because each day you live
will demand the sacrifice
of at least one small defeat.
This is not the feeling,
of course; these are just the words
that the feeling might be trapped in:
in order to consider
the trackless ocean, it helps
to be a speck of flotsam—
just like to ponder
the mystery of your childhood,
you have to be a grownup.
But the last thing on Earth
you will learn
before you leave it,
is that everything
you finally know
will have to be forgotten.
