Magnifying the saw-tooth edge
on a blade of grass, an ant’s bulbous belly,
below the bifocal line. My lost glasses.

I retrace the way I’ve been, eyes on weeds
off the path, looking for a metal frame glinting,
a sidewise glance. I don’t give up easily.

Things must take up space, so to all lost, things a place!
Blue sweater behind the chair; under a newspaper, the keys;
umbrellas just about everywhere. Some to forfeit, some to find.

I tell myself—Of course, they can be replaced! These,
with another pair, a sweater in a warmer shade.
A lover who won’t misplace what I say. I tried my best.

Words can be tossed out, lost to interpretation. Look
how I go back over the same ground,
trying to retrieve what I said. Without the dash of it.

And what’s left if I can’t retract or replace?
Loss, that’s it, isn’t it? A thing in itself.

First published in Blue Unicorn