Tuesday, July 07, 2020

Lost poem

I've lost a poem, not a poem of my own, 
not a poem whose lines have wound themselves 
into my soul — but a poem that could own me.

It was fleeting, in my stream for a moment. 
Keep it, the thought flickered, but I swept past. Now

           My hands are bloody from digging...

If I could pull it from the sky even 
one shattered fragment.

Her words, for I am certain it was her words, embedded in her stream. 

Still. I can remember only one word: Dakota
And that it made the ordinary sacred.

2 comments:

  1. Might you be thinking of "Dakota", a book by Kathleen Norris?

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  2. Maybe, though I pulled that from the shelf and nothing in it rang a bell. Sigh.

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