A March Poem: Artifact

You are my
Artifact
Discovered in resemblance
To an oil stained
Street.

You are my
Artifact
Never found in a riviera
Rainstorm.

You are my
Artifact
I could have
Dismantled your
Markings
And erased the
Bitter blemishes
That traced your
Foundation
And scared your
Casing.

You are my
Artifact
I no longer lug
In my battered backpack
Or trusted treasure chest.

You were my
Artifact
But a new subject
Fills my laboratory.

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