the brain is a filter. it is
a lens. the brain is
a keen collector,
an amasser
of hoards.
we humans think
dimly of forgetting.
we are proud of
our brain, we
like to display
its collections.
on the edge of
your ocean,
breathing.
on the skirts of
your city,
in an orange
shadow of streetlight.
next to your
muted field,
out where the unseen
highway
only registers as
contented sigh.
across the avenue
from your small town
diner, the one
owned by Greeks,
the one with the breakfast
menu that is two pages
short, or
two items long.
stand there with your brain,
and let it forget.
forget the reasons
you want to leave
this ocean,
this diner,
this field,
this electrically jeweled
city.
forget why you are
angry at your parents,
why you no longer speak
to your sister.
forget the humiliation
of your face,
the skin that folds over
your bones,
your inability
to look calmly
into a mirror.
forget the person
you think you are.
the limitations and
the failures. forget,
so that you can
remember.
and then remember.
the splendid awe
of ocean.
remember the relentless
potential of city.
remember the perfume
and candy of a field,
wind’d and
sweeping, golden
in the triumph of
fading light.
remember the diner
in your tiny town,
the fried eggs,
the warm friend
of its sticky counters.
forget your tethering.
forget your leashing,
your stiffening. forget
your limiting
and remember; joy
is limitless.
it is inexhaustible
it is quiet.
and it will not
forget you.
zakschafer.com 