Oh, not like the eyeglasses or keys
that mysteriously meander   
their way into the freezer  

or the running shoe
puppy-chomped and spit-soggy
wedged under the bed  

More like the sun-speckled trout
snapping filament, flipping tail
and racing for open waters  

the last parking meter coin
slithering from hand and rolling
toward the muck-mawed sewer grates  

a country wet with promise
suddenly hung out to dry
like some red-blotched wash of negativity  

She didn’t notice when poetry left
just one morning her tongue thickened
lifeless as mossed quarry stone  

The clouds were no help
no castle or dragon shapes anywhere
only vague fuzz linting the horizon   

She watched a girl draw mandalas on the sidewalk
hoping for spark in the colorful chalk strokes
but all she got was dust up her nose  

Even the sun seemed to taunt her
disappearing like a plump-winked eye
a ripe cherry bitten by birds  

She leaves the windows open now
just in case a moony night
coughs up a shooting star or comet  

Some random spore rangy and wild                                            
that might catch in the lacy blue curtains
or land on her idle tongue
and give it ease