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Meditation on Buddhist Thought

In the room I forgot

                 ...the closet sags

                 with the sudden weights

                   of regret

                     —From “Thistles” by Philip Levine


When I was young

I promised myself

I would never forget

what being young

felt like.

The first time

I fell in love

I expected to love forever.

When I was mad

I thought

I would never be sane again.

Now I find time

has worn away parts of me

the way wind and water

erode the permanence of stone.

Tokens of remembrance

hang on my walls

like museum artifacts.

They speak in metaphor

of struggle, love, pain.

I see these trophies,

remember

where they came from

but cannot feel

their potency

nor the exaltation

and angst spent

in their acquisition.

Time has passed---

I am older

have lived longer.

Perhaps this is the way

of the end---

slowly

losing a piece

or two.