One Art

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 belo­ved 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!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

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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 ...

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