I'm looking for poetry

in my old journals

I'm looking for poetry 
in my old journals 
But all I can find is you -  
reminders for a Christmas show, 
a shopping list - sweet 
potato, fresh lemons, 
dinner up Grouse 
Mountain for Jan's birthday, 
a potluck, a games night, 
ticket stubs. What was I thinking 
keeping all this junk, 
detritus carried down  
the river that was us. 
I'm sure we began at the foot 
of a glacier somewhere 
me sublimating at the time 
but it was a short run and now 
I remain mired 
in our estuary. I'm waiting 
to write about the sea again 
dragging notebooks and journals 
off the shelves, digging 
in the mud. Somewhere there's poetry  
without you. I have to believe that.