Against all spell-casting wisdom, my sweetheart 
blows out 74 candles and spills his wish: 
To be young again, he says, looking into the trees. 
And in through the mail slot between us 
flies a piece of folded light, his answer 
scribbled there in disappearing ink. 
Yes, it says, even as it fades. Soon enough…

But first you will have to go back 
to what the Hindu scholar nicknamed  
the Forgettery, or what the three-year-old twin 
urged his brother to remember as they talked 
in the back seat of the Honda. Remember 
the Changey Thing? he asked.
After we go into the Changey Thing, 
we get new shoes and a new back yard. 
There’ll be a different mother… Remember 
that Changey Thing?

But almost nobody remembers that turn 
in the road, not even your own twin, 
freshly sent forth, 
so it’s useless to bring it up.