The Poem I Lost

I lost a poem
born this morning of returns.
It vanished like so many nimble thoughts,
like sleep within sleep.

Losing the verse has perfumed the ache,
that precise alchemy for capturing
a heartbeat, a moment, a breath...
and this dull prosaic world, hurried and hollow,
laughs—laughs at my sorrow.

I have lost a poem, surely,
the finest poem this useful hand
has ever written.