Jan Hansen Poet ABC

to know without knowing

To Know Without Knowing

Red moss, crimson as the blood of a slaughtered calf,
 I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
 where or when. To see a landscape painting, knowing 
 I had been there before
 In the Valley of Cobblers, children ran barefoot on
 summer grass and scented wildflowers
 unpasteurized milk, and healthy, innocent laughter.
 I know this to be true, but I don’t know why.
 I think of reindeer; will they eat red moss used
 as they are to the grey variety? The sun keeps shining
 like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
 The good earth is dry and waits for rain
 The Red Moss is a forgotten love story. Perhaps
 if I sit still long enough and wait 
I will remember it.

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