Loss of …
… something just beyond my fingertips
that I can’t quite remember
By the time I remembered your name,
I had forgotten your face.
Then I couldn’t recall why
I wanted to talk to you.
I trace dark landmarks
on the back of scarred hands:
dust covered photographs,
grey, grim, not belonging in any album.
At night I cruise among islands,
emerald green against sapphire seas.
Why did I never visit so many places?
Golden sand trickles through
night’s hour glass as stars, planets
dance in Platonic skies.
My memory fails.
I wake each morning
unaware of where I have been.
I track the sails of drifting ships,
I think I have caught
them in overnight traps,
but they fly away each morning
in dawn’s forgiving light.
I give chase with pen and paper,
fine butterfly nets for wild thoughts
waiting to be caught,