In the window of London Transport’s Lost Property Office in Baker Street. Photo by Garry Knight at https://www.flickr.com/photos/8176740@N05/5589154852/

Dear Readers, my camera (which was full of photos that I took on a lovely trip to Wisley with a blog friend ) has dematerialised. Is it in the house somewhere, hidden behind a piece of furniture, giggling? Did I put it on the seat beside me on the train home from West Byfleet? Did some scuzzbucket manage to nick it out of my backpack? Well, who knows, but it seems like the right time for some Elizabeth Bishop…

One Art

By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. 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.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.