(A Golden Shovel after “the trick of finding what you didn’t lose,” by E.E. Cummings)
thing that makes us tick; the trick
is knowing what you’re made of
and then finding
what you never had, what
maybe the lonely moon only hid from you
and made sure she didn’t
disclose to stars, win or lose.
this game of celestial existing’s
for we’re made for more, but
with all that sacred sky in store, we have to
find our way. to live’s
more than a day, more than a sunlit mile, a
pin-pricked scrim, a sacred gift.
In November, we poem. This one’s a Golden Shovel.