FROM ANYTHING LOST, SOMETHING REMAINS
During a nocturnal, cosmic, cupboardian shift,
cereal bowls, carefully organized in columns of four,
stir, roll, tumble to the floor,
released from their servitude of vessel-dom.
The lowly pottery bowl can now be measured,
cut into tesserae, constructed to resemble
the Prussian Blue horizon line
found in ancient villa mosaic floors.
Better yet, the pieces swept up, lobbed
to the bottom of a brother pot, drainage aid
for hollyhock, cosmos, foxglove. After first frost,
shards are discarded in the farthest corner of the yard.
Over time, rain-buffeted, wind-scrubbed; pieces are reduced
to dust, silica, alumina, sedimentary clay.
Waiting to be found, ground, glazed,
burned in the cycle’s inevitable return.