Remember when your eyes were the sky and the sea
blanketed in foam. We ask the clouds to remember.
My turned back is blind.
I sought my reflection in the cracked mountains, where faces appear in slated rock formations. I am wiped clean of wisdom. The land still believes. The rivers’ uneven tones and the brooks murmur, syncopate.
Remember the boats thirsty for the open sea, lamenting in fresh water. I remember
a time when my feet were on solid ground, arms lifted into the sky, trying
to take flight. Failing to remember, I am wingless.