everytime i'd come back
to that knotted garage of things
long gone business cards & dusted cassettes
treasure to my hungry eyes
savored mountains of plastic

now i am confronted with it dark
you no longer around to ask
what this might be capable of
just dead metal and disparate parts

in some corner, long forgotten
a handpainted egg cup
and i am pulled into the years gone
decade suddenly stretched between me and ceramic

in another box: every card i ever wrote you

your penchant for objects no longer a mystery
for you knew better than us
the price of mortality

when the only thing left of your father
is an overworn watch