For every memory lost
there will be one
that will not let go.
Like a phone ringing,
you can’t
not answer it.
*
To write a poem is
to fling a stone,
not sure where
it will land.
The best ones come
when the poet
is taken
by surprise, when
that random pebble
of an image
discovers
its true home.
*
Brief, like mist
on a mirror,
the variable
ghosts on the bay,
dip and lift.
Sailing, to find the breeze,
you steer towards
the far, dark cat’s paw
not sure if
it will still be there
when you are.
Photo by Luci Shaw.
