The image above is the UCLA Sculpture Garden.
What have you lost?
Have you lost your youth?
Orange-pink and red residues across the morn
Orbs of lusty dew ready to be sipped
An eager skip onto the hidden trail
Ignorant of the ragged branches along the way
Chin angled up as Apollo ascends his place in the heavens
Have you lost a friend?
The one whose image never dissolves
She who no longer answers the letters
You once trod together down the hidden trail
Without foreboding of the division ahead
You hesitated, extracting a splinter, as she passed by
Have you lost your will?
A bed that beckons you to curl as a fetus
Engulfed in a warm surrender to sleep
Seduced by the sirens
No energy to hike the hidden trail
A craving for honeyed dreams
Have you lost your nerve?
Doubts bellow through your breast
As you yearn for a certainty than can never be
Do you dare down the hidden trail?
Questions pulse as anxious furies
Without answers, without knowing
Have you lost your voice?
And abandoned music
Filmy souvenirs from the hidden trail
But you listen, muted, to the myths in the photo
And welcome their harmonies, their challenges to you
But you don’t stop seeking answers along the hidden trail.
Despite the point and curve of the question mark
Finding that what is lost just waits to be found.
And what is fractured might yet be restored.