Two socks lost in the wash.
One each from two pairs
missing, gone, disappeared.
Not clinging to my son’s underwear
or hiding in my pajamas. No.
Not in the dryer, on the stairs, in theÂ
crack between washer and workbench.
Two lovely wool socks vanished!
Like the perfect phrase for a poem
a sparrow on the wing
that last piece of chocolate
an early morning dream
the moon behind clouds
a mouse through its crack.
Gone.
Leaving me lonely
and cold.
