there’s always someone trying to play Christopher Columbus:
hide & seek, missing puzzle pieces, secret admirers.
after being found to only be so easily forgotten,
i now take no interest in being discovered.
pick me in a field of dandelions to only wither me away.
re-circuit my airways to breathe with the moon, close yet
unexplainably far. push me against ocean tides until i’m
vast washed that you’d need countless search parties to
find my pieces.
there’s softness in being lost;
a tangible marvel that people recycle
while they’re so consumed with searching.
but there’s more to be found when you lose
your greatest enemy,
your oldest friend,