The Art of forgetting

Someday I shall certainly forget you,
Like the grass in the fields forgets
the winter snow
Like the fog of winter
leaves the autumn sunsets only a memory.

On solitary Sunday afternoons,
My steps take the old familiar road
A flight of stairs, a familiar song,
Tapping feet on a wooden floor.

Yes I shall certainly forget you,
in this crowd of beautiful faces,
whose names within a moment of knowing
I may forget to recall
Weren't you just another among them all?

And yet sometimes I just might,
staring into a pair of dark eyes
(seems like yours, in disguise ?)
Or looking at a baby's familiar smile,
remember you for a while.

As I weave dance patterns on the floor
if a whiff of that familiar perfume
were to drift across the room
I might lose my step and stall
(while my partner stares, appalled)


Tossed by the wind across the street
A small black butterfly
caresses my cheeks
The memory of you, and reminder to
the ephemeral finality of life itself.

Someday with a peaceful smile
I can forget to forget you.
Like a lonely sea that remembers
to return everything to the shore.