Five senses should suffice, but memory lends me a sixth to embrace them all. Cannily selective, it guides me into the Heiliger Dankgesang, Sappho's ode, the flavor of Blatz, the color of a mountain bluebird, the lost face of my mother.
Memory cherishes every self it has ever cared for.
Thanks, old friend. Don't let me down. Peter Davison is the poetry editor of The Atlantic. His poems in this issue will appear in his newest collection of poetry, Breathing Room, to be published by Knopf in September.