Patina

I sift through screws and tangled twine,

looking for a metal sign.

Beneath a stack of blunted leads,

I find the thing the padlock feeds.

The brass is choked with chalky bloom,

a dusty green inside the gloom.

It leaves a stain upon my skin,

a gritty salt where age crawled in.

I rub my thumb against the light,

and smear the rot until it’s bright.