Recoveries Poem by Terence Winch

At first, the same old disintegrating memories
the significant details of his past, the you know
what I mean. Not bad for a guy who made himself
out to be excessive, deeply irreplaceable, the life

Of the party. The plot is full of revelation. The forest
remains unchanged. He laments. He sees God in a foot
note on sex and blood. Americanism hangs in the closet
with a suit of old clothes, the green hill just a dream.

The morning sky has a trace of it where he prays.
In the clearing, the right word breaks out across the gap.