and in the turquoise-milk waves
there is a moment suspended
when you forget your name, and the tongue that forms it–
the strange clicking syllables that have knit themselves together to mean
peppercorn and Advil and ten million atoms of you–,
and you view yourself as a stranger
who smiles in bubbles.
oh, you glorious thing.
you incredible pile of happy mistakes,
you have traveled thousands of miles
to bathe yourself in the same puddle of water.
won’t you remember this in the times to come–
the impossible taste of forevers?