Taylor Graham





Here’s the infusion the patients drink
in order to forget — made from the shoots
a dying tree puts up
from dark waters underground.

This morning I walk the aspen grove,
generations of trunks with quivering leaves —
so many linked torsos of a single tree,
all of them in urgent shades of fall.

I forget nothing.

Copyright © 2004 Taylor Graham.  All Rights Reserved.


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