Sometimes you lose it
Find yourself in a back streets
counting nickels to give beggars
Stop to help strangers with directions
The carefully drawn map
finds its way to the bottom, shoved
under trinkets, pocket books,
the expired coupon you meant to use
It takes one wrong turn on a back road
to spark memory, cause you to burrow
unfold the story of the way you were going
And see if there’s a new way to get there.