Remembering is not a Virtue

A poem

Photo by Paolo Nicolello on Unsplash

Who will remember
these mornings when
I sting the darkness
with candlelight?

Before the streets
have a voice,
as Mars outshines
the moon, and autumn
solstice nears, and
a quiet wind
is the last whisper
of hurricanes — who
will remember
the mornings
I rose early?

The crickets respond
in the fading darkness
that remembering
is not a virtue.