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FORGET WHAT DID Stopping the diary Was a stun to memory, Was a blank starting, One no longer cicatrized By such words, such actions As bleakened waking. I wanted them over, Hurried to burial And looked back on Like the wars and winters Missing behind the windows Of an opaque childhood. And the empty pages ? Should they ever be filled Let it be with observed Celestial recurrences, The day the flowers come, And when the birds go.