“Lose something every day. Accept the fluster . . .” (Elizabeth Bishop)
Every once in a while I open
one of too-many, tiny
boxes, and there you are,
bright stab of memory: My brave
lover from long ago. I see you
exactly as you were then, because
time took care to preserve the details,
the same way amber traps an insect
for eternity. One could almost
map the genome from this fossil:
golden ring with its garnet chip.
I used to wear it on my little finger.
There are things we find
that were never hidden
even if we didn’t know
exactly where they were.
Nothing of this kind is ever
lost, though after countless years
of practice, we may think
we have mastered that delicate art.
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