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Deep in the Valley of Lost Things by Bean Sawyer

I dropped a button. Maybe it was careless – maybe.
We constantly leak, leave bits of ourselves wherever we go
even when we tread softly, tiptoe
barely leaving footprints. I built my home
on your bedsprings and rusty hinge,
unearthed your spout in the veg patch
found you washed up on the shore.
I gather your scattered remains of carelessness,
tarnished, dented, smoothed by time
hold your treasures in my hands and wonder
if maybe – maybe one day,
someone will find my lost things too.