Poetry Friday: Found

Found

You never know what you'll find on a walk in the park.

The other day atop a snowdrift I spotted,

half in its sheath,

a knife.


Hunting knife?
Fishing knife?
Weapon?
Of knives I know not.
I knew only

that I did not care to see it there.
I wanted to kick it away,
deep into the snow.


But children pass through.


It could not be left.


So I picked it up.
Awkwardly.
It was heavy in my hand.
I put it in my coat pocket.
I felt very strange.
I carried the knife, its hilt one down coat layer away from my hip,
until I looped around to the trash can
and un-found it.


Then I walked another lap.

And another.

And one more.


And each time I noticed the exact spot where the knife had been.
And each time I noticed

that when the sun cuts into the surface of snow,
it sparkles
ever so beautifully,
and a little bit differently,
each and every time.

This

is what I found

at the park.