It sometimes happens when looking for
Lost objects, a book, a picture or
A coin or spoon,
That something falls across the mind—
Not quite a shadow but what a shadow would be
In a place that lacked light.
As though the lost things have withdrawn
Into themselves, books returned
To paper or wood or thought,
Coins and spoons to simple ores,
Lustreless and without history,
Waiting out of sight
And becoming part of a larger loss
Without a name
Or definition or form
Not unlike what touches us
In moments of shame.
Carol Shields (1935 - 2003) Canada
Source: Mary Swann, by Carol Shields, Stoddart Publishing, 1987 (Original title: Swann: A Mystery)
Lost objects, a book, a picture or
A coin or spoon,
That something falls across the mind—
Not quite a shadow but what a shadow would be
In a place that lacked light.
As though the lost things have withdrawn
Into themselves, books returned
To paper or wood or thought,
Coins and spoons to simple ores,
Lustreless and without history,
Waiting out of sight
And becoming part of a larger loss
Without a name
Or definition or form
Not unlike what touches us
In moments of shame.
Carol Shields (1935 - 2003) Canada
Source: Mary Swann, by Carol Shields, Stoddart Publishing, 1987 (Original title: Swann: A Mystery)
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