Misplaced (Poetry)

They’re never lost — I carry them around
lodged in memory’s unfathomable pockets —
all the buttons ever dropped
lurk in there somewhere...

Odd gloves and gauzy scarves, umbrellas, too
waiting for repatriation —
the sense they know where they belong has never gone away —
I’ve faith that all who’ve ever strayed will come back home —
turn up one day like redirected mail.

Those letters — the ones I’m guessing never reached her
now lying crushed and trampled landfill-deep —
will unfold themselves in dreams
and answer everything she failed to ask.

The blue lenses of my missing glasses wink —
the late summer sun still catches them, idle on that hill
among the grass stalks where they slid themselves —
folded patient, watching ’til the time
I walk that path and find them rusting there.