Circles and Beads

Natasha Moskaljov

We forget. So

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we cut our bangs again,

find the same people 

to love again, 

break time apart 

losing the same

pieces to start again.

I forget. So

I wish to pass you

on the busiest street

in town, walking

runway model steps, 

talking English 

on the phone.

You forget. So

you step aside,

my back unknown 

graffiti on the wall

that you erased.

Time forgets. So

it ticks from twelve 

and back again

as I count my days

before I fall.

Perhaps you do too.

Life is just a bead in 

the prayer of the world.

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