So, you want to paint a picture.

It is unfair white in a world of counting.
And so it is a world of unending disagreement. Petty eyes

Study petty fingers, flipping through
Stacks of stuff.

So, you want to be a collector.

Start with a cottage in the woods--
How many trees did it take, and which way
Does it face?

Is it shy to the light?
Or is it devoted to the sleepboat
Moonlake?

It was important to someone, once.

Does it wait in a predicament of beauty,
Half-built?

Now you count it out. The building blocks
And orphaned stumps, the yard made of what is near in flattened lumps.

The bottom line seems to not matter as it is
On its foundation, in its original
Habitat.  But when you carry it on your back

The oldest ounces of nowhere gain weight, and tend to matter.