You, who created me,
came with me;
but when we made our God
I left mine at a view
where a sudden ravine
fell upon plodding harvest fields,
admiring the blue —
where three white clouds scudded on a breeze
and an eagle towered, so still and black,
stretched on leafy sinew.
Once, I left mine in the shine
of a new pair of boots,
forgot mine in the eyes
of an almond-eyed girl,
lost mine in the muck of a coffee cup
rattling on to a far-off port of call.