I got close enough to the river that I couldn’t hear the trucks
but not close enough to stop the roaring of my mind:
“These rocks don’t care if I live or die.”
“Everyone I know will finally turn away.”
“I will confuse and disinterest all posterity.”
Lost wisdom is a quiet echo.
Lost wisdom by the edge of the stream at dusk
is a quiet echo on loud wind.
With one hand in the water wanting cold and clear,
fog obliterates the morning and I don’t know where I am.
The heart is pounding and you are always on my mind.
Lost wisdom is a quiet echo.
Lost wisdom: a boulder under the house.
I used to know you. Now I don’t.
The screaming wind said my name I think, significant and dark.
My lost face in the mirror at the gas station.
Who are you above my face that I wake up with alone?
Lost wisdom: approaching shape in the low light.
You thought you knew me. You thought our house was home.
I thought I knew myself. I thought my heart was calm.
Thunder, lightning, tidal wave, the wind blew down the door.
Lost wisdom: the river goes through the room.
I saw your picture out of nowhere and forgot what I was doing.
Everything vanished in your eclipse, broad and lost.
A constellation of moments comes to life in the void.
Lost wisdom: face down under the moss.
Enraptured by the beautiful face in the billowing flames,
I opened the front and back door and let the wind blow through
and I stood in the house and tried to hold the breeze.
Lost wisdom: waking up in a pile of ash.
Secret knowledge comes to me in the dusk.
You showed me the river and I saw me.