on the beach,
I peer intently
at shells and rocks.
They are like
eidetic memories
from childhood.
The child does not
know what to edit out,
because it is all
potentially important.
A man asks what I
am looking for.
"Nothing," I tell him
(but my first inclination
is to say, "la vida"),
"but one never knows."
We talk some more.
Detecting my accent,
he asks me
where I am from.
It's a tale too long
to tell,
but I tell him
the obvious part.
The dog and I move on,
and I remain lost
in my thoughts.
I am like the child
who cannot edit out,
because it is all
potentially important,
it is all part
of this new life.
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