We begin saying goodbye,
become distracted by
the search through time –
attic, relics, the old street,
a man selling hot pretzels
and peanuts from a cart,
the doughnut truck.
Letters, old photos
tied into square bundles,
the thin ribbon of time
holding memories together,
adding depth to the confusion.
There should be another word.
One that carries the same weight
but is lighter off the tongue,
easier on the ear, that can be thrown
over the shoulder like salt, or rice
for the luck it will bring.