To Forget

If I could forget that day when we ran up the hill 

with our feet as light as the summer’s rain; 

our hairs flowing behind to reach for our past, 

our mouths gasping for each other’s breath, 

as we climbed up to gaze at the prayer flags  

dance like our effervescent dreams, 

then I wouldn’t have to worry about the promise 

we made then, before a weathered shrine, 

before the winds carried our words 

through the boughs of those lofty pines, 

before the soothing ring of the cattle bells 

beckoned us back home for supper. 

If I could forget that day when you held my sorrows 

safe between the warmth of your heaving bosoms; 

between your lips that wove the finest lies, 

between your arms that wrapped around my timid self, 

before I could scurry back into my misery 

and hide behind bravados and bookshelves, 

then I wouldn't have to wear this guilt  

around my neck, so proud and defiant, 

so heavy with my own insecurities 

waiting to spill over the edges of my existence, 

so lost in the integrity of tempered faith 

that still binds us blind to this day. 

If I could forget that day when we made our way 

past those crowded rooms with faceless folks; 

past those lonely corners of abandoned streets, 

past those dead-end alleyways to our dreams, 

before the chill of the waning winter 

froze us with sleets of indifference and ice, 

then I wouldn’t have to blame the both of us 

for a fair share of mistakes, those little moments,  

those simple words that made their play 

and left us enamored yet miserable, 

those fleeting glimpses of possibilities and pain, 

peeking through the cracks of our wizened smiles.