Stray Notes On Stray Pieces Of Paper

stray notes on stray pieces of paper

why do  they feel like the entrance to a gold mine

I can never throw them out

what if they hold some clue

to some forgotten you

I query the general multitude I imagine listening

there they are near and far about my small rooms glistening,

scattered like white diamonds in the blizzard of time's sugar snow

accumulations

reminders of a former purpose steeped in purple ink

now it's fading that one almost dropped in the sink

if I let it fall it may be new baptized even though the ink is 

smeared

though handwriting took a turn for the worse that year I will keep it

who knows what the heart can still decipher if it tries

who knows what fragment of a lost art it may comprise

my tattered consolation prize

my own my own Rosetta stone

I say again each time I turn  toward the bin

of personal history all my reservations intact

it reminds me I was trying to do something back

then, on a day fraught with flowe3rs imprints from a former track

the hours  still radiant

and almost a beacon now;I cling to their paper wings.

mary angela douglas 23 may 2021