I take things and keep things, no sense of regret
but things still remain there, right where they were set

I take things, display things, and covet them too
but I am no thief sir, look here’s what I do

I take with my eyes a thing’s copy in light
and things with my ears, when I did hear them right

I take what I felt with a brush of my hand
and the flavors from dinner, unless they were bland

I keep things in memory, my curio shelves
describe to my guests what they can’t see themselves

I touch things by knowing and recall things, and yet
do forget things as well now, the older I get


When the lamp in his curio finally grows dim
it will flicker, go dark—oh well, too bad for him