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Memo To The Lost

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When your turn comes
(for a breath or a season)
to be lost inside your own life,
When you remind yourself
(almost humming the truth of it)
Oh, how lost, how lost I am,
when that is how it is with you
when humming keeps your hands firmly held
in Lost — there are times (these times)
when having your hand firmly held
is deep comfort, no matter what is
holding you. What if, instead,
you told yourself:
This is adventure
or journey or
a game?
What if this is Hide and Seek?
And the trick to the game is
Stop hiding. Stop seeking.
Open your hands to the wind.

3 responses »

  1. I read two of your poems and I already love you.

    Reply
  2. Time stood still while I read this. I think I read it three times, but it may have been more….
    And afterwards came back to myself as if I’d been for a long walk in the woods. Oh, my.

    Reply

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