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