I could write a
Poem this morning
About junctures or liaisons about
The tarnished spoon I
Rescued from
The kitchen drawer crowded
By muttering utensils
And of its thin
Unshapely handle
Like a fossilized bone
Joining an
Empty bowl veined
By disuse or about the
Sunbeams crowding around
The shutters and cowering
Beneath the tepid weight Of darkness