Lost poems

I read an interview Maria Shriver did with Mary Oliver.  It was a wonderful window into one of my favorite accessible poets.  Like many poets, Mary is at work on several poems at a time.  Mary, it seems, is never without a writing implement and paper, even at night.  I admire this.  This is not me.  I lose poems all day long. 

They litter the streets we walk

When we don*t have a mind

To catch them,

To open our hands,

Not let them slip

Through our fingers.

When we simply do

Other things.

I lose poems

All day long.

They cover the floor

Of my office

Under the altar.

They walk the aisles

Of Trader Joes

Or sit on shelves.

Sometimes I read a poem

Someone else has caught.

I think:

That poem

Might have been mine.

Still

I am glad

Someone

Caught it,

Picked it up,

Took it off the shelf,

Even

Brought it home

And fed it.