by Laurie Koensgen
Things come loose:
unruly curls of hair
your ears can’t secure;
threads that hold the buttons
of your overcoat, abraded
by the shivers in your chest.
Pearls become unstrung; perhaps
they clatter down the drain.
Convictions slacken.
I am here, in the margin
of this languid afternoon.
I seem to have lost something.
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 2