Forgetting is sound disappearing, a body’s spasm
In folds of death, a mind’s entrails in a stomach
As everything of you freezes in life’s green liquid
An ice block of death, whose water of life melts
The night when it happens in a death that stares
And you collect life’s water in rags of wet clothes
As body is a waiting rag torn off from your fabric.
Forgetting is fire and wood, in a crackling sound.