Made

Without knowing we become.
Like a word misprounced
or a screen door slammed.
Soup slowly burning
to the bottom of a pan.
First one thing then another.
Among other things we are.
Desired. Defaced. Discarded.
Yet generally ready for more.
We are sunlight in a window
and the glass within its frame.
We are the long view taken in
and a crack, barely visible
in the corner of the pane.
We are useful at times.
Or worse than useless.
Breakable. Beautiful. Made.