To Remember a Poem

poem by Billy Kwan

A minute to half-past twelve. The moon’s sphere of light hides
behind veils of clouds. You tilt your head back. Thoughts
descend like mist that hovers around the ankles.

The trickiest part is always some other thing
than a thought; so you begin
to forget. The silver sliver of moon
rotates around back into a bowl –

without farewell, your sentence disappear, now
part of the shine, now half-past twelve.