Poem: “Trying To Remember The French Word For Cloud”

Trying To Remember The French Word For Cloud

 

It drifts at the edges of memory,

in the delicate blue ciel,

changing shape each time

thought makes a grasp.

There’s neige, but I think that’s snow,

étoile, star; soleil, sun; pluie, rain; oiseau, bird.

I’ve populated the whole sky by now,

but it’s still hopelessly clear.

I remember rêve is dream, to sleep dormir.

Fluffy like sheep, but I can’t

remember sheep either,

though I could count them as long

as there weren’t more than ten.

So many words have blown

through the expanse of my memory,

dissolved into fog in the mind,

and now it comes to me

that I’ve even forgotten the word for remember,

though I still remember

the word for forget.