Match Box Poem by GRANT FRASER

I just lost a poem, I did,
so I'm going to write this
as if it were something I
might have wrote in the first
place:

word fragments floating
with plastic feet in my head,

it won't land

it's not going to happen,

child in the sun
digs a hole in the sand,

with his fingers,

finds a word,
all dried up and crusty,

it was the 'good' one,

yeah! I remember it, partly...

but that was long long ago,

child in the sun
digs another hole in the sand,

then buries himself, alive...