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Lost Heart.12.7.10
To be exiled far from what one may call home
Is melancholy sometimes, June-Paulette.
Travelling litters the planet with pieces of one's self,
But where exactly did I leave my heart?
It’s out there somewhere on a baggage carousel
Or in Left Luggage in some dusty terminal.
Under a rarely-cleaned hotel-room bed
Or at the bottom of a guest-house wardrobe.
One shouldn’t take out so intimate a thing
If one doesn’t want to risk it’s loss: or,
If one does, one should at very least inscribe it
With Return to Sender and address.
So I would send you something of my heart,
June-Paulette... if only I could find it.
poem
by
Roy William Gotaas
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