It Was Just

Once in a rare
While, you can see
A string of words
Hung like dried fish

On black lines, scales
That glint a bit
With a dull shine.
Here are all lives—

They look the same
At a glance, then
Shift in small ways
If you take them

One or a few
At a time, as
If you meant to
Boil a small meal—

“Jug with a lid
And a thick round
Bowl, God knows what
That was for, but—