Hellbent man shaped, by scraping
And pounding, an amalgam of silver and lead.
The bowl of the spoon shaped enough
To hold a measured quantity of jam or
Flax or chia seeds.
Unburied from the hopes of what might
Have been a wedding gift, a passing
Fancy, a dowry,
The edges delicately delineated with the patterns
Of a tumbledown, weeded Welsh Abbey.
The gravitas of this object is wrapped
In tissue, stowed away,
To be unpacked, unwrapped,
And held to a forehead or cheek,
It’s coldness the lightest whisper
And memory, a passing Summer fancy.