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:
blood maps,
unremembered encounters,
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,
white moths.

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,
then tamed.

17 thoughts on “Loss

    • Thank you, Mr. Cake. Your comments are much appreciated. It’s funny how Clare and I sit at the table, struggling to find le mot juste. We grin at each other and mumble, ‘you know …’ the suddenly the right word pops out, like a genie from a magic bottle. We often say it together, like rabanos for radishes I couldn’t remember what it was in Spanish).

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Janice. It’s old age partly, and the fact that so many things go missing. Memories, words, flashbacks that come and go, telephone numbers, people’s faces. Someone kept smiling at me in the supermarket yesterday and I didn’t know who they were! I find that I am losing my languages. I bought radishes in the supermarket, but couldn’t remember what a radish was in Spanish. I couldn’t remember eating them in Spain. I looked the word up in the dictionary: rabano. Then I remembered Noche de Rabanos, and carving radishes in Oaxaca, Mexico. My radishes / rabanos had noting to do with Spain. Now I wander round the kitchen muttering rabanos, rabanos, every time I see one.

      Liked by 1 person

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