Underfoot

By Andrew Flaherty

I’ve lost a poem
A seed that I loved
And planted,
Its green leaves
Falling from my memory,
The trunk of paper
I wrote upon is gone.
It spoke of my love
For a singular
Cotton wood tree
That danced a tango
In an old spring garden.
Undressing without shame,
I sat cloaked
And she dabbed
Winter residue
From the corner pockets of my
Hibernating eyes.
As I wrote
She consoled me
As I read
She healed me.
It left me wondering
Where things go when
They slip from our hands,
Left me wondering if all things
Must return to the earth,
Wondering
If this poem, if all poems
Are underfoot
Long after they blow
Into the wind of our imaginations.