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I've lost a poem
I’ve lost a word.
I’ve dropped it somewhere
and I can’t find it now.
Four syllables, I think,
the swathes of a poem.
I’ve lost inspiration.
And it wasn’t great, you know,
just a word, as big as it gets
to let the poem come of age
in the plantations of paper.
I’ve lost moments
from my Secret Time’s pendulum
and the path
my mind follows
when it strides
off the beaten track.
I’ve lost few letters,
the aura that renders them a word
and the hues they take
when they’re stored in mind.
I’ve lost a voice
from my blood’s volumes
its activeness, its mood
its subject and its object.
Maybe it’s being tricky,
just playing a prank
or it may only be preparing
an epigram
‘The great poet who thought
he’s found the word!’
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