On Forgetting Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

'on forgetting'


We have always misplaced things—
small truths,
the way a path once bent toward water,
the sound a friend used
when the day was still unbroken.
Ignorant of neglect.
Flowing in a slow drift
that follows every life,
the way dust floats
even when no one moves.
People try to keep what they can:
a mark on a wall,
a line carved into wood,
a gesture repeated
until it feels steady again.
But forgetting is older
than any attempt to resist it.
It arrives without force,
changes nothing at once,
and then everything.
Still, we look for what was set down,
not expecting it to return whole,
only hoping to recognise
something of its shape
when it comes back to us
in whatever form it chooses.






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