Ash Wednesday

The world is dust
returning to dust –
an old story
but ever a new one
like that wicked uppercut
we knew coming
but didn’t see.
& the cross of ash
on our foreheads?
We never really
fathom the ceremony:
like the throwing flowers
at the bier
before we repair to
a complete forgetting
like photographs fading
into yellow
then empty white.
But we learn to survive
that way.
To live
is to fail to remember.

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