There was a redhead once

in tight jean cut offs


He hears soft melodies without words,

sees open spaces, mountains, deltas,

from airplane windows


His reading habits are gone—

not able to concentrate, scans

gray days, stares

ahead at nothing


Sounds he once knew,

voices, flashbacks


Abruptly stopping,

heads cocked over a bridge,

pointing to a swirl

What was that they saw?


There are walls with ivy on them,

but from where?


Were they walls where

enemy soldiers were stood

in rows and shot,

or did he just dream that?


He sees her face on every other

woman walking by


She could be the woman

from the forgetting time

before the time of forgetting

the lost mother, the childhood

that never was