I’ve finished edging our yard with bricks
found in a corner of our garage:
wavy bricks, solid bricks from the 1880s
fired by The Ohio Paving Company.

To complete the job, I’ve stolen bricks
from a construction site, digging
clay slabs lodged in the soil, among tall weeds.

Paying attention as I mined, I imagined
that I was invisible to the neighbors
and removed two bricks to carry home.

Already I’ve forgotten the empty house
–now a hole in the ground–
or how long the bricks lay there.

What I remember are the bricks,
their weight in my canvas bag, and moving
the bag from shoulder to shoulder.