"A Man in the Midst of Dissolving"

The fact that you were born someplace
Doesn't make it belong to you.
It may make you belong to it.
Take a slab of sidewalk. A home

At driveway's end is a found poem.
Lost poems are more interesting,
Especially those you know were lost.
Don't expect to find the others,

The people and pets in that home
That you never knew existed.
The bones under the stained carport
May not have mattered to someone,

May have been the ribs of a deer
Brought down by a bitter winter
By a stone-tipped arrow, by wolves,
By bullets, by wasting disease.

Or they could have been just like yours,
Unique in the error they made
Rendering you brittle as twigs,
Blown glass, imitation Delftware,

But glowing under the black loam
With the magic of belonging,
Finally, to a place and not
To your haunted flesh dissolving.