The Cracked Door

Thanks to change, the past stays strange,
Strange right in front of your eyes.

You curl your thoughts in a ball
That hugs a small part to you

Of what’s left, what you call now
And, at the same time, call lost.

But that’s not the lost, the left.
That’s just what’s left to be lost.

You can’t know the past that’s lost.
It’s the change, what’s new in past

That tells you there has been loss,
And, since it won’t stop, more loss.

There’s that weird crack in your thoughts
That splits what you find in mind

From what you can find in world.
That’s loss. That’s the door. That’s yours.