Image result for 3 graces in renaissance painting

This is not my best poem.

My best poem is gone.

It was almost written. But when I stopped

The poem kept going on.

Life will eclipse life.

What was it like? I cannot remember.

A total failure? A beautiful thing dropped?

The feeling attending the loss

Of the poem, which almost stayed,

Is all the poem is.

Was there wisdom, visions?  Time

Is poetry’s soul, and time on time is laid

Until hearts we saw and thought were there,

Move in a mist, forgotten;

Loss is all that’s speaking. And the poem doesn’t care.





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