One

Once

First among

Second placed

Third and last

What and where and when am I?

Are you?

We too are known then lost.

Before the chance to know we part,

And next when we are strangers meet,

As if all done is nothing more,

Than pollen dust,

That fans and spreads,

That comes to rest on earthen floor,

Waiting for its time.

. . .

On Summer Solstice you will discover who this poem was written for. As it stands, isolated and alone, the language gives little context except for the meeting of its words with those you have known, and the fragility of memory.

. . .

"Each reading is a meeting; each ending, a parting. And when I return to it, I come as a stranger who has somehow been here before..."

ORIGINATOR · Mike de Sousa

ART FORM · Poetry

COMPLETED · 2026

Free to enjoy. Copyright maintained. Not to be used for ai or commercial gain.