March 17, 2007

From The Lost

Do not seek me in the cracks between
the floorboards. Do not grope for me
behind the couch. Do not look beneath
the bed, I am not hiding there, nor
in the closet, breathing in mothballs and
stale winters.

Do not look for me inside
your mother's wrinkles, or your lover's
open mouth. Do not search the gaps
between your fingers, I am no longer there
shivering for you to
find me.

Do not try to shake me
out of trees, or dig me out of
buried sand castles. Do not
fish the turtle pond in Central Park. Do not
dissect anything, don't bother
splitting the atom, it has been done, it won't

make you find anything
you have not already found
(and lost).

February 2007.

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