I had a word and lost it —
on the tip of my tongue
and it dissolved.
Or did I drop it somewhere
I can’t find it.
It must be there somewhere
just beyond my reach.


I get angry at this lostness
and embarrassed, too
when I’m speaking to someone.
My discomfort is noticed
and I’m told
“Don’t worry about it” —
or “It will come to you.”
Sometimes the lost word gets found
and sometimes it doesn’t.


I wish I’d harvested more words
when acquisition was easy.
If I had a lot more
maybe I’d miss the one lost, less.
But I’ll never really know about that.


What I do know is that I mourn just a tad
when I reach down into my word well
and come up with something
that does not quench my thirst.

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