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 Memory is฀the฀empty฀sock฀on฀the฀floor฀that฀still฀holds the฀shape฀of฀the฀foot.฀It’s฀a฀thin฀strip of฀the฀entire฀picture,฀shredded฀by฀the฀eyes’฀sense of฀event,฀the฀mind฀like฀Dan฀Rather฀on฀location on฀the฀moon,฀a฀place฀with฀comparatively฀little gravity฀yet฀clichéd฀and฀thus,฀like฀Swiss฀cheese, full฀of฀holes.฀This฀business฀of฀thinking฀back to฀a฀point฀in฀time฀is฀like฀writing฀a฀poem฀that cites฀another฀poem.฀Dobyns฀does฀it—a฀man explains฀to฀his฀wife฀that฀the฀Stevens฀line, Let฀be฀be฀finale฀of฀seem,฀means฀what฀exists฀is more฀important฀than฀what฀seems฀to฀exist. Just฀goes฀to฀show฀how฀difficult฀it฀is฀to฀explain the฀essentially฀evocative.฀What฀I฀want฀to฀do is฀up฀the฀ante—write฀a฀poem฀that฀quotes฀a฀poem that฀quotes฀a฀poem.฀Because฀that’s฀exactly the฀problem฀with฀memory.฀It’s฀like฀those฀nesting matryoshka฀dolls,฀the฀features฀of฀the฀smallest so฀diminutive฀who฀knows฀what฀they฀really฀look฀like? Just฀a฀semblance฀of฀the฀real,฀like฀Mount฀Rushmore. Not฀really฀flesh,฀but฀hard฀and฀craggy,฀and฀much much฀bigger฀than฀real฀life,฀and฀bigger฀is฀better, right?฀The฀problem฀is฀that฀truth—read฀that฀memory— is฀always฀in฀tension฀with฀a฀soluble฀fish.฀Yes, like฀Simic,฀I฀believe฀in฀it—flux,฀not฀finale— everything฀on฀the฀edge฀of฀becoming,฀ready to฀slip฀into฀something฀else.฀Not฀like dolls฀inside฀dolls฀inside฀dolls฀but฀children holding฀a฀flashlight฀under฀a฀colander, casting฀stars฀into฀a฀darkened฀room,฀each฀moment, each฀breath,฀air฀in฀a฀windsock,฀spilling฀out. ...

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