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.