The golden rush wore away
From exploration,
To excavation

Now, not all this salt is what I
Collected crossing flats or sea,
But seeded by sun upon my skin
From my exertion

However, now I’m not as jaded
Now, not all the green around me
Is green that I found,
But what I planted this morning



There are lessons like the alphabet,
People like handwriting,
Memories like speech

It makes sense for them to matter;
So much sense, I rarely think of them

And sometimes there’s the lesson
In a memory of a person
That’s important for no reason,

Like a paper done last-minute
For a class I never cared about
That counts as half my grade