My materials are sought in a lazy way; chanced upon, found by the curb. All have been part of some deliberate human action and are now disjoined from that action-perhaps no longer needed, perhaps worn out by that need.

Unhitched and scattered, they are words of a sentence

chopped apart and thrown into the yard. Threshold, fencepost, windowsill. Cardboard, curtain, shutter.

The scattering remains here, the tender mawkishness of a thing flung away.

- Laura Foster