Rice grains in the pot,
emerald skins of peas; fine
mesh of steam under the lid—
In the hollow around
the light socket, cobwebs
thin as sewing thread—
Assortment of buttons I saved
in a box; cracker crumbs
to thicken the soup—
Beads I looped
on my daughter’s broken
violin string: bracelet
of new-found things.
In response to thus: For all that is lost.