lost
by sharon gates

I have built a shrine to the lost.
A confused and congested conglomerate
Of car keys and lost library books,
Silver and copper coins slipped between sofa cushions
Shining like the eyes of a childhood collie.
Held together
With threads of lost opportunities,
Apologies left unsaid,
Questions I never thought to ask.
In the midst of this memorial
To the misplaced ­ I see your face
As I've always imagined it.