things (over which) I’ve been lucky to stumble
and become fond (of) – the goods, material
for construction—art or a structure of ideas—
using whatever comes to hand. Anything,
in other words, is useful or can be, and what else
does the heart desire but to be of use? What comes
to hand, the textural equivalent of memory
coming to mind. Walking the dog (Greta now, rescued
some years back, her leash chewed through and dangling),
I kneel to retrieve. A rusted pipefitting. A fine strip of orange
plastic with corrugated edges. One red reflector, cracked.
#2 pencil, splayed, golden paint chipped, nub of erasure.
Inch-thick shard of glazed pottery. An elbow
of tree bark, swabbed with pale green moss. All
on my worktable in a tango of various glues and things
such as this soot-flecked rectangle of styrofoam
some car ran over pressing into relief the embroidery
of its tread, (over which) my valentine marvels,
“Let’s frame this.” Listen. A person should only marry
a person who likes the stories s/he tells.