I miss everyone from my old universe, the one
that collapsed and shrunk beyond the beyond.

I am terrible at keeping in touch.
First friends disappear, then their faces follow.

Large parts of my past I cannot even remember. I have never
had a good memory. Makes it hard to be a poet of any merit.

All I recall is a forked tree, a lofty home,
and Jesus whispering, "Talk softly,
but carry a big stick."