I find them all the time
bits of paper
words scribbled on napkins
crumpled envelopes
that hide in the bottom of my purse,
or fall from my pocket
when I pull out my keys,
pieces of me
starts of poems
a thought that whispered
softly in my brain,
lines and words that wait
patiently to become a poem,
so I gather them up
all these bits and pieces of me
and one by one
discard them to the trash.