In the slanting drift of afternoon, even as
night begins to fall, made patterns of thought
and intention fade. The air lightens, the
trees lose shape, and a hermit thrush in the
distance invents songs that move through
the silence. You haven’t crossed my mind
in years, and I barely remember your face;
but, suddenly, here you are, the merest
recollection, shapeless as such remembrance
is—without substance or form—quickly felt,
then lost again. And what does such fleeting
memory signify except that time taps us on the
shoulder and reminds us (briefly) of whatever
we meant to each other in another time,
who we were and who we became—
what this day is, what yesterday was.
Adele Kenny, founding director of the Carriage House Poetry Series, poetry editor of Tiferet, and author of 25 books, was the 1st prize Allen Ginsberg Poetry Award winner (2021) and has received NJ State Arts Council poetry fellowships and Kean University’s Distinguished Alumni Award.
