yesterday's poem disappeared into the cloud,
I hope she found rainbows, no longer tethered to the ground.
perhaps the flute quartet launched her, no telling
but she was no longer here on this page, she was
written but never read,
we are so seldom read, we browse the title
page and make our decision whether to look
deeper or not, often we decide it's too much trouble
and we drink a glass and move on.
how many stories and poems are unread
like yesterday's that was never read, much