Remembering's such a liquid world,
as if what is recalled swims out of murk--
the mind diving to meet it once again--
and then the memory waggles back to depths.
But what's down there, down deep,
forever, never to swim up again?
There, not there, what weird forgotten
creatures or shards of little shipwrecks
might emerge? You think this as you lean,
look past the edge of now, the present moment
rocking like a boat. Remembering, or not,
you look into that inward sea of yours.
hans ostrom 2023
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