To Remember

In my old bedroom
Looking out on a leaning pine,
I stop to rest,
And for a few days
Carve out a time
That is both old and new.

At dinner, a wooden spoon
Scrapes the last bit of rice
Into the blue-patterned bowls,
And I sit with mine
In a way I remember to do
Over the white-tiled table.

Walking with you now
Down streets I know,
I see geese against a deep red sky
In a way I do not remember.