by Gideon Burton
Had there been other anchors to those words,
a stop -- a pause, a simple decrescendo --
some measuring of tempo. So absurd!
recasting how the phrases ought to end.
It's what we do, rehearsing what is past
rehearsing, over and yet present. Done.
But we undo the done, remix the cast
or misremember dialogue. We're stunned
if others don't approve our finished show
of memories reblended a la carte.
We never know just how the thing should go,
but afterwards, what care! what subtle art!
Had I the wings to scale the azure skies
I'd fall to earth just so I could revise.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Anton Khoff
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