they punctuate my mornings
these small, folded pins
punched and tensioned steel, waved and capped
flung into the world by the millions, invisible and forgotten

until they pile by my window
along the lip of the sink
in the dusty right angles where bed meets floor

they alight
the small and large, all subtly glistening shades of straw
of earth and cave-dark

after you leave
after coffee cupped in your hands
and sheets still-warm and smelling of you

they find each other
and clumsily, slowly
form a nest
in the high center of my chest