Hope is a shoebox

This morning, I wrote a poem for you... but it was very sad.
I thought of a new word to describe things... but it's too hard to say.
...I let them pass, unimpeded

I uncovered an old memory, like a photograph in a shoebox
in my mother's basement that I thought I'd lost.
I turned it over and around, searching... wishing I'd taken better notes.

I will remember the tree, pointing to the sky like a finger.
...and the wires that hang here and there,
they seem to me now like pencil lines, dividing the world into spaces

I will remember this poem,
which is about things I have forgotten.