do the trees have memory
can they remember a year
can they pass me hand by hand
to that place
that place of innocence?
i wrote some time ago:
doesn't life sometimes feel like
a steady fall from innocence,
every beginning so transitory
it becomes muddied as we fall from it?
i have to remind myself constantly
that there is no real such thing
as a beginning or an end.
so then,
what of innocence?
