lost

to learn
that loss
is inevitable.
is to accept
the possibility of end
is to walk down the street
fluttering the tunes
so unleashed
and to believe
to meticulously believe
that that very toon
maybe lost.
you
the over pour of rain
you
the apple pies and morning overcoats and freshly painted windows and poetry that bares no fear and newly sharpened pencils
you
and clean bedsheets and my pain morphing to glory
too
may be lost.