If you have spent time trying to establish the truth of things as they happened, to remember truthfully, it is unsettling to blithely delete a memory and rewrite it with a few keystrokes. But it is a necessity to rewrite the events of the past. It is a “Il faut que.” Must. The truth of events as they happened is, most often, too shapeless and arbitrary to be a poem. And sometimes the truth is more than can be believed. The poem cannot always sustain the shock of it.