A kid moves down a trash-strewn beach. He's walking without Expectations.  Suddenly, he stops and bends to pick up something

Pretty, smooth and green, a sand-worn piece of glass. Though not

So bad before, his day is better. He's come by a treasure in a place

He hadn't thought would bring him such a thing.

The kid is me. The beach is this grotesque expanse of suburbs, sprawling
South of none-too-lovely Denver, miles and miles of shit-built

Minimansions, set to start to fall apart within a decade's time,

Interspersed with franchised stores and restaurants, apartment buildings. Searching for a sanctuary, I drive to a library the Masons built in Castle Rock. I enter without expectations, check the catalog, and learn it has

Some books of poetry, all trash, I'm sure, but then I start. One features William Carlos Williams!  Seizing it, I start to read. I've found my

Piece of glass.