A.E. Stallings, 26 May 2022
I bought an antique sieve of hammered tinFor its decorative holes
Patterned like a flower, or a star explodingAt one of the poles.
I think of all it has sifted: flour and sugar,Dust and light,
What must be ground so fine, so fine! to pass through –Milled, contrite.
Light and time it has sifted, like a metal welkinOf punctual stars,
The cold hieroglyphs of the constellations,The raised scars