The Gatherers

WE ARE GATHERERS,

THE ONES WHO PICK UP STICKS AND STONES

AND OLD WASPS NESTS FALLEN BY THE

DOOR OF THE BARN.

WALNUTS WITH HOLES THAT LOOK LIKE EYES OF OWLS,

BIT OF SHELLS NOT WHOLE BUT LOVELY 

IN THEIR BROKENNESS.

WE ARE THE ONES WHO BRING HOME

EMPTY EGGS OF BIRDS

AND PLACE THEM ON A SMALL GLASS SHELF,

TO KEEP FOR WHAT? HOW LONG?

IT MATTERS NOT. WHAT MATTERS 

IS THE GATHERING.

THE POCKETS FILLED WITH REMNANTS

OF A DAY EVAPORATED, THE TRACES OF

A CERTAIN MEMORY, A LINGERING SMELL,

A SMILE THAT CAME WITH THE SHELL.

- UNKNOWN