I took another glance at my journal
That I no longer write in which offers
Helpfully a feature called On This Day
Dating back almost fifteen years ago
All of which I would not recall myself
Had I not put them down digitally
But even this sampling of existence
Seems random yet also contiguous
As if they could have been successive days
Yet here we are in fact an outlier
Neither bound by word nor are we written
We are ghost days passing secretively
Lucky if we will not be remembered
But more fortunate by chance if we are
Like this:
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Joshua Keiter 