Dew Poem by Jim Beam
Dew
back
past there,
on some turn come then,
I forgot most of everything.
you talked over the rain,
filtered down
out-rung boughs,
whetting mist;
I forgot
I was cold.
and I didn't mind that
I had forgotten,
like that, I could.
if I tried to keep this,
it kept like dew.
Monday, November 1, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: forgotten
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8/28/2026 11:01:11 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
