What I thought was lost
“composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found”
Mary Oliver
Many times, I lose my way
going left when I should have gone right,
going down when up was the better direction,
keeping quiet when speaking was the best path.
I stumble over boulders trying to map
an easy route but find there is none.
On the way to a peaceful path, sometimes
on my hands and knees, I clamber
over rocks.
I find in wandering,
many questions go unanswered.
Wasted paths turn up
at the strangest moments,
letting me find the lost.
Remington Review
Spring 2019
