Rooftop Night

To things lost in curbside gutters
the absent tracing of oldest scars,
uneven bricks
the soft glow of a distant town
which might be a collage
of found objects returned home
after a sojourn in ether.
To the scraps of paper in my pocket
on which are written
terrific radiant humble
and I wonder who it is
I’m supposed to save
or if someone is doing me a favor,
giving me back in spider-thread
something I hadn’t
thought was missing.