Footsteps

I remember too much
and I remember nothing.
So many names have danced
through my longest nights.
So many times have been lost
between dreams and memory.
I grow older and I learn
the attractions of forgetfulness.

I see colours and I see shapes,
edges resolve themselves into form,
things capable of being touched.
I touch your face with one fingertip
and comfort myself with the illusion
that understanding can begin
with this one sensual act.

But we stand here like two strangers,
watching the rain falling down
on those streets we walked through.
Each hoping in our own way
that the rain will wash
those streets clean of memories.

So, when the sun does return
we can step out together
into a world made new for us,
and that each street will not echo
with the ghosts of our footsteps.