Remembering
                       for Eduardo Galeano
 

Having heard them before,
sometimes when they are nowhere to be seen
i hear geese calling.
 
Is this, Eduardo,
how you were obsessed with remembering?
 
Once touched by something
that commands eyes skyward,
heart shifting its pumping,
the feet stopping in their tracks
so as to notice the tracks of another
this time geese in trackless flight,
once pleasantly touched —
forever remembered.
 
Were we not touched by some Maker,
all our lives a kind of remembering,
striving to recall that primal touch
the launching into unique fleshy form
perhaps sprung from something whispered in the ear
as one whispers to a child or friend embarking
on a new journey, imparting something
no one else can ever know.
 
And is it not the whispers we remember
longer than the shouts?
 
Yet still my head turns to hear
the beautiful clamoring of geese
across a sky i do not see
because they are not there
yet remembering,
and by remembering
more likely to hear
and see them
again