LOST
What she’d thought was her case
was another’s; its cargo as fresh
as a stranger’s kiss;
freighted with unknown meaning
and a fragrance of dust.
A woman’s things. A ring.
Wonderful, magical, precious;
she makes a new wish,
and she sits there, wondering,
at the threshold of loss.
She remembers their dance;
his laughter, the look on his face;
the things she would miss,
lost in impossible space.
No: this cannot be chance.
It signifies something; it must.
She finds herself dreaming
of a world like this;
warm soft lips on a lover’s flesh
in a faraway place.