Losing

The thing is, I lose everything.
I've     misplaced     all the
things I own at least twice.
No thing is safe
from disappearing,
it all slips between the threads
rough stitched fabric
of my universe.

A few weeks ago,
a pair of rose colored
rabbit-shaped earrings
went missing.
They must have scampered away
from my bedside table
as I slept.

and yesterday too my class ring,
with dragon insignia
carved into its metal side,
lost so many times
I've just stopped looking.
It always turns up again
like a hungry cat.

Long ago I bid farewell
to a book of poetry
by Billy Collins,
each page dressed
in a suit of marginalia,

kissed my favorite teacup goodbye,
the pond-green one,
topography of cracks down the side,
and one sock from almost every pair
has      fluttered free      like a pet parakeet
through the open window.

So I hope you understand, love,
why I hold you so close,
afraid that if I set you down
and turn around
for even an instant
you will            disappear,
gone the way
of so many photographs,
rusted door keys,
and two driver's permits.

Now you know why in my dreams
I forever find myself searching for you,
hands outstretched,

                                          in the dark.