Sober as a bright sunny, cold winter
morning. Late at night.
She searches beneath a lamp post
for hours without luck.

No one comes to help her.
No one asks her why she’s there
or what she’s doing. And she’s not making
requests or offering anything up.

Hours become days become years
become half a lifetime.
Keys? A five dollar bill?
Her soul mate? A dime? Watch? Trust

in the process? Whatever it was
she lost is lost
to the dark slippage of time.
A rotating jail

of juvenile barred owls
found nesting overhead
keeps her company
for the duration.