Gifts

The gift of lost work
Never to be finished
Perhaps a rewrite
Never as good as the original
Reminding us that everything is
Temporary everything replaceable imperfect
Allowing us a quiet patience
After the madness of loss
Reflection that we are temporary
Every moment lost forever
And more precious thereby
That we may never regret
Even the bad times
And remember with greater happiness
The happy passion and poisons
We happen upon in moments
Which are gone forever
That we spent together
Except as we rewrite them
In our memories and
In the poems lost forever