In the echoing half-light
Figures grew who reached for me
I was taken in
I was cut adrift
It was not a family
It was not a home
I was left to my own devices in a little hut
A kingdom of broken things
Little wires, remnants, parts
Like the moss, coil, string a bird gathers
A sort of inheritance, however fragmentary
A sort of inheritance, though I know nothing of my past except that I was once other than this