as if I had washed up here
     among pencil & rock, drift stick, lots
of paper, book, old face, friend
     long dead…coins, my copper &
            beryl, wood & tape, my fluttering
leaves of business cards, broken
     rulers & painful shoes, to you
                      I bequeath all this—perfectly
     bereft, harmless, for you,
to sift through the silence
     of these pieces—
                           good luck