Mislaid      He’s missing a sock, she a glove      lost in the wash or dropped in the rain somewhere.      They keep its twin in memory of      a world that once went round in pairs.      Worn out with disuse, no mending      can save it from an ending.        Not unpartnered like their errant clothes,      they do not miss the other gone      or see them leave. They wear the losses      from the first signs their course is run      till the last grief gets up and goes.      Barefoot or sleeveless in…