This is not the memory of names
or the consequence of time held high.
Nor is it the specifics of information garnered
from the fragile truth of books
to our changed perceptions
the blessed, flexible vision of the eyes.
I have no simple justification for what I have chosen
besides how it feels, like blooming on fire
and its subsequent comfort. The epitaph of humanity,
the transfer of growth. Here, among us all
I know you as if you were my own.
You know me and now I know the world.
What more is there to remember.