First you were the gold hoop on midnight sand,

Searched in the surf by your cigarette light.

Oh foolish savant, too much untamed land;

We danced in the waves, abandoning trite.

Next you were the teacups dangling from wire,

Last night of the year in downtown Denver.

We chose not to bother, edged by the pyre,

That rare condition where frost knew fear never.

Last you were the red X, lost among clay,

Our twenty scrabbling fingers failed you;

What we found was more precious that day,

I thanked you profusely for something new.

 Now I’d give every hook and wire left,

For my time to be just once more your theft.