I Honour All The Useless Things

It's been a while now, I collect

the things that others throw away.

When sun burns flowers into specks I

sweep the remnants on my tray.

I watch the wax of candles burning.

At night I see them melting down,

and drops, like summer yearly turning,

I catch them lest they hit the ground.

Of every ruined dwelling wall

the bricks I set for more precision, I

put them back to raise a home for

all the ageing homing pigeons.

From every past event that was

I pull apart my own reply and

take it as a new surprise that

on that day I was alive. I have

it all together tied,

by hand I organize the atoms. I'm

born again or else just die amid

the slew of useless fathoms.