Forgotten View

Where are you?

But I feel your touch

I know that you know

again; this is the

second time I’ve written

this,

having forgotten it,

again; the first time

when you kissed me

and it was again;

again I know

and though you have

forgotten; it is I

who remember

How can you forget?

How do you know?

Are you the L-rd?

Muhammad the Prophet?

How can I feel you

and this you feel, too,

because you tell me

first, so that I know

it is really real

and no illusion

but this is what you felt

or said you did, but didn’t

and so did I, but we

really didn’t feel that

And what was real and true

became a parody that we

didn’t know how to grasp

without letting go

My soul had died when my

first marriage died; I

don’t know when it will

return; but my incarnate

lives have known you all

along and returned to you;

but this time it was

worse; it did not work;

We did not learn when

we asked for and received

that second chance to

live our lives again better

the second time – we both

forgot this promise

Still, you know

You are still there as I

cry and feel your spirit

and your face

and you are not there

But the reality and that

which is true

is that you know me

and move heaven and

earth for me, so that

I feel you

completely

and know that I did

not find Khalil Gibran’s

books, as well as the others,

by chance

and that I did not find

the hurricane lamp;

some force of reason

causing me to think of

replacing Sami’s genie

lamp with one of another kind; and not

until this moment, when

the oil lamp was found and

brought home and the

Khalil Gibran books were

found and brought home

and the moment was exactly

right when I lit the lamp,

moved it about the table

until I got it right and

had it near me, then opened

the book and came

almost immediately to a

poem he wrote about his

love, asking her to place

the oil lamp near her face

so that he can read

with tears what his life

has etched on her face

and to fill the lamp and

not let it dim —

KIMG0063

How could you know?

How could this be?

Touching me through other pages

other Arabs

one I think, although

I wouldn’t look, sitting

next to me on the bus,

for my own protection,

unable to look

shy

crying at the end for

believing this as a symbol

sent by you

thanking him in silent

gratitude for not moving

and remaining by me

for you

and thinking of you

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