letters lost

each little lost letter 
has no idea, sometimes,
as it stands in anonymous 
rows:

What
kind of word 
it's contributing
to. Where 

in some sentence it fits, 
and goes. One

letter won't know. And

As to paragraphs, good 
grief! No way to step 
so far back and see 
one's place in the 
prose we make 
all alone, each 
by each, building up 

to some sense 
we can never see, 
take in, understand, 
truly mean

of 
our
own.