I found the fragment
of an old plate
a shard of blue and white
washed out by the rain

I thought about
the meals it represented
a clicking of cutlery
like the ticking of a clock

now it lies like a mosaic clue
a spray of blue leaves
a pair of boots
a swollen river

we are made of elements
random accumulations
that form and break
according to the weather

we pattern out our time
it rains, or it doesn’t
someone carries a plate
nothing lasts forever