Lost

Lost

I lost myself somewhere
In whispering fields of hay,
In sounds of summer, raped by fall
In sweet dismay.
Among the flaccid forest limbs
Where fallen logs decay,
Enshrouded in the leaves they one-time wore,
Forgotten with the milkweed fluff
The winds caressed away,
Entombed as smooth-skined skimming stones,
Now blanketed in clay.

I lost myself somewhere
Where once we met,
Among the words of love
Our loving spent,
As some unbookmarked, once-read phrase
Upon a once-turned page,
I lost the laughter of your face
In winter’s chapters,
Sorrow, shame and age.

(written 10:00 p.m., Sunday, September 26, 1965)

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