A green glass telegraph insulator
made in 1912, to catch the sunlight.
A lidded box full of antique keys
none any longer fitting an existing lock.
A handful of white quartz crystals
partly smoothed by waves of a large lake.
Eighteen bound notebooks, many colours,
filled by one hand, changing over time.
A print, from Beijing, of thirteen white cranes
standing in reeds during a snowstorm.
A colour photograph of a man climbing
the side of a narrow green copper steeple.
A Solingen pen knife with a brown bone handle, well-worn,
but carefully sharpened, smelling of pipe tobacco.
A harlequin doll, with a red wooden nose
that winds a hidden music box to play
a beautiful, unidentifiable melody.
These are clues
one life only
to any other
no accounting for
seeming random things
that have become
by chancy alchemy
of inner events
that one carries
in a charm bag,
I won't explain them,
but will hold them up
so that you may see them
and imagine your own poems.