I ask if the loss will predict
even more as years unwind
first the inch and then the yard
miles to travel to find myself

putting down what’s at hand
filled beyond what I can grasp
clattering to the welcome ground
taking what I cannot clasp

accepting debris I’ve attained
this is my mission if I’m brave
declining treasure turned to trash
put aside so I may trek

in the end I’ll walk upright
no longer bowed by the rocks
put in pockets and on shelves
loss portend and then embraced.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171113.