Nels Hanson

The Treasure

I keep forgetting where the treasure is,
no warm jewels under the dragon’s
sour scales, not the lode in the crystal
cavern of gold veins webbing the quartz
walls. You can’t reach the fortune
by secret elevator to the penthouse or
guessing the combination on the bank’s
hidden vault within the sealed vault,
the special safe that holds the pirates’
doubloons from the wrecked schooner
off Santo Domingo. Nor by the beauty
of movie stars, classic profile and pure
slope of body like the evening hills, or
fame, your profile stamped on every
coin. All the maps are wrong, the traffic
signs to the matinee’s sneak preview.
The treasure is right here with you and
me where we fail to notice the antique
chests of diamonds and rubies throwing
open their locks and heavy lids as we sit
together morning and evening and return
again to each other like the rising sun
and the different moons and their stars.

Nels Hanson © 2018