I am a basin–
receptacle
for all the little pieces of life
that spill over into me.
Insignificant moments that escape you–
so minute that you don’t miss them–
slip away in shadowed heat.
These tiny scraps I hold
protectively
within the silver sides
your searching hands caress.
Repository.
A crib for your carelessness;
a bookmark
in a tome you’ve never read.
