Reincarnation

Can I know, even briefly

who I was, the way the dim room

whisked me bodiless

from the chair - the mind

splayed on a screen,

a pair of ghost eyes present

only in the seeing.

The way I continue moving

like deadlight in a thought,

and seeing

comes without

component or vantage.

Can I know, the way

on the stairs

a past version of the self

shivered out of alignment -

verged on vellus hairs

with a loss

years ago.

The way the lump in the throat

as I cracked an album

didn't recognize itself

as it spotted itself.

Can I know

the way the pieces

that fell away

left me with

the wares to know

every seven years or so

stewarding a timeline

between cells.

The way we'd flick on the TV

at the end of the night

and watch ourselves in others,

exchange 'remember whens. . .'

and 'that's you, ' that's me.'

The way

I have so many notes

to share

of things remembered,

and things remembered

are just things remembered,

can I

just leave this,

and . . .

Author's Note

. . .