Memory Poem by Michael Regan
Memory
Why is it that
certain memories
of idle moments,
apparently trivial,
never depart
while most seem to
disappear for ever?
Lake Garda-
Fifty years ago.
Mist-
no horizon.
Water and sky were
one white haze,
the sun a dazzle
of light so intense as to
hurt the eyes.
I gazed into this infinity
of whiteness, blank
and featureless as my
undiscerned future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 6:13:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
