Sometimes I forget
that poetry exists.
It takes a few
moments before I am reminded of that;
but by then I would have missed my chance
to whimper like a little girl
at the loss of her flower casket.
When I wake up to poetry
and its inebriated ways
I see whatever I have missed
as far receding islands.
Leaning from the stern
I crave to be there,
feel their white sands
and climb their marble mountains.
But nothing,
not even poetry takes me there.
