so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something e v e r y d a y.
Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel.
None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch.
And look!
my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones.
And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.