Those things that don't arrive
on demand,
things that stop fingers
and interrupt beautiful stories:
where they went
and where they go
who knows
who will tell?
They may break into words or song
crumble into syllable and dust
creep into conversations
as filler or frill,
but lost lines
return in disguise
alleviate other headaches
fill spaces differently made
energize.
Don’t believe,
but flip the question and ask
‘where did those other lines
that came without saying
and wrote themselves almost
where did they come from
which lyrics or love notes
did they escape from?’
All lines are lost
and words are people
looking for the once-familiar
but gone
perhaps forever.
Lost lines are consolation prizes
in competitions no one ever wins.
