To stay forgotten
that is the test,
to not have memory
scratch,
the afternoon stubble of a morning shave
under a palm that wearily crosses the grain.
Or light,
floating before the closed eye.
Or handwriting,
calling with a voice and an accent and a tilt of the head
from a falling paper
in a book marked for reading.
To stay forgotten.
Forgotten – As nobody knows when you’re lonely.
Not forgotten, just waiting to experience anew