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.