I lost another
poem last night.
It wasn't more than
a fetus
or a couple of lines
strung loosely together.
It never had a chance,
much less a second thought,
until now when
I was sure
it would be there
when I was-
ready for it.
I could assume
it was never important
and would not amount
to anything
significant.
Yet, a feeling lingers,
like scent
from another-
who was here?
