about when a poem visits like an old friend

and suddenly you are different and suddenly the poem feels brand new.
Written after this poem by Neruda popped into my head on a jog.
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Like a hurt dog 

I go further today

than before, not knowing where.

Suddenly the canal sits familiar

beneath car streams;

I arrive there and remember

reading “Clenched Soul” four years ago

in class, reciting with a forced

sadness I’m ashamed of. 

One duck swims so lonely

by I think of the sun

like a coin in my palm,

burning away. 

I think of blue sweaters

rolled like hurt dogs

that don’t belong around

here, that would never

trot by and wait

still at traffic lights.

My face is taut and I

remember to relax

each muscle one by one

until the tension leaves,

jogging by the water

toward a pending twilight

I practice unclenching

any familiar questions;

I let my soul inquire

about sadness; 

I let the pieces drop like

blue night on the world.