Monday, August 26, 2013

The Lost

In morning, before the day, when quiet prevails,
no cars pass by, the cats asleep, the lady of this large house
sleeps in, for me: I rise and begin this poem of nothing
worth troubling the nerves to feel, stark memory of what I lost
among peregrinations. The sea was as warm as the city,
and I drinking the air, alone, imagined myself happy.

(26 August 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander 

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