Lost And Found
I will be out of pocket for much of today (April 8) but will be back to return visits as soon as I can.
A slight shift, a fracture
a quiver in the focus;
things get lost beyond finding.
In their place? Only memory,
that varnish of hearsay, sealing of wish,
where fact turns to fiction, pain into history
in the shift, in the break.
One night while you talked
I fell through that thinning,
pushed into the unthreading
by the North on your wind.
I landed hard on a dodo's beak,
snapped a pterodactyl wing-bone
there in the big box of everything lost.
I found ten thousand ghosts
and the almost-necessities long since replaced;
torn concert t-shirts, sophomore copies of Eliot,
left-behind keys, flaking champagne corks, half-dead double A's;
I ate for my dinner plates of unuttered praise,
and the laughter of children, made before they aged.
Ankle deep in old phone numbers,
I searched in vain for the footmates to
singular socks, wore them as they were
with only one blue slipper,
for the forgotten dance step, that last step
where no one had to watch out.
A slight shift, a crack and
I'm here now, with these friends,
my colleagues in flotsam,
in the place where you lost me;
music drifts the dancers
down comes the kiss
left in your old coat pocket, the last match
and the wick
for the lamp in the heart;
In this lost light, this lovelight,
it's impossible to be lonely
when the crowd swells
With apologies for the length of this piece--sometimes they just keep coming.
"It Hurts But It Doesn't Harm"
On the eighth day of this month of poetry, the intricate mind of Magaly Guerrero asks us to
"Weave a poem that explores the difference between hurt and harm"
The Ladies at Bonheur, by Remedios Varo
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