I remember forty rhythms,
twenty four months ago
a verse for each of the departed mornings
there - a tempo of banana cart processions
here - a beat in whitened solitude
I read each one as suggested
the ticktock of typical
once anesthetic
now surged vociferous
How much things have evolved -
For fun, I smile during the many repartees
But they are so meaningless
And with all the miles of earth and rock
sometimes I think I exist nowhere
Except in divaricated light
Reflected from my broken mirror

Forget me – forget me not
Forget me – forget me not

Twenty four months have past
looking in the glass at my One and Only self
the analog clock now discarded.
I hardly remember the exact forty rhythms
but they pulse through me with each respire
And I love their tempo
More than I did
Twenty four months ago

words © 2011 Malai Carrara
image by johanna knauer