I took two totems and held them to myself one in my right pocket and one in my left for clenching tight in reminder while walking about of what's really important
a brass bull keychain strung to the keys that opened my home and made it mine for prosperity and material health and weighing down to the ground and a little hunk of lapis lazuli speckled through with golden glitters
for keeping bright blue and buoyant my spirit
the bull broke off its chain and left a dangling void a superfluous jangle wiggling on old keys turned in to an old landlord
the stone slipped out of my jacket pocket in a cab to the airport to a plane to the other side of the world
now of my totems but a short refrain and a memory's glitter remain
It is perhaps naive to believe in totems. To believe that one can will something into existence just by imbuing an object with its representation. If a brain, if a life do not want to hold those things yet, then the totems will simply slip out of one's pocket, forgotten.