So many lost poems
A cocktail napkin here,
Back of a paper bag there,
Lost scraps of paper
Stray thoughts in
The middle of a walk,
Or conversation...
Driving,
Hands on the wheel,
Mind busy with my words,
Waking...
Wait!!!
Was that another in my dream?
A poem, complete and finished,
Floating, drifting off away,
Consigned,
Condemned(?)
To that place
Where dreams and,
Lost poetry abide,
A voice to be raised in
Distant song,
Echo of an echo lifting
Its orphaned head above
The busy crowd of living words,
Perhaps to be
Reincarnated in a line which
Seems to come to me
From some unknown place?
Donovan Baldwin