Losers, Finders

What you lose that someone else finds:
a note slipped into a fold in the cloth 
of time; another that slipped your mind.

Not the first time you feel as if blind,
flightless as a domesticated silk moth. 
But what you lose, someone else finds—

Luck had nothing to do with your state of mind.
Gravity pick machine, numbered balls in the broth 
of time. One after another they slip in your mind.

In thrift store bins, jumbles of left-behinds.
Atlases, maps; mismatched crystal, dish cloths.
What you lost that someone else finds

one bleak day, rummaging idly only to find
luck that flew out of your hands. It sprang forth 
out of time that for a moment slipped your mind.

One day, will you catch up to find
it accidentally broken, changed in worth?
What you lose that someone else finds
at another time slips into your mind.