Not Lost

To think…what is lost?
 
Her heart invents reason;
reason, an art, being enough
to call a wayward child home.
 
I bend a knee to that invention.
 
No longer prodigal, squandering
valued blood over ground
littered with fragments of
young bone.
 
Welcomed at the gate
my thoughts are a procession,
a chorus singing me back
to this world.
 
I have come to think
nothing need be lost. 
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