Poetry
On Being
Loser’s Lament
But actually, I didn’t ‘lose’ you
like a spark of timid thought
disappears, cold steely keys
bewitching me into eternal
merry-go-rounds of hide-and-go
-seek, a toddler crying somewhere.
I counted calendars, reeling.
The thought of the moment ordained,
when out to sea I’d send you, like a sailor
lost chasing maps in the night sky
It’s time to go father it’s ok, on that day
you swallowed nothing but stars.
