Steam-man

Your momma’s a mystery, left just a shadow and a shout.
Daddy’s a porpoise gone swimming down south.
The rest of the litter I never have met
It’s been 10 years and I haven’t seen ‘em yet
In my mind you were made of smoke, steam, and sparks,
Come to be out of the paper-thin breeze and the dark.
Your years spread out like mis-matched piles
of miniatures, broken nic-nacs of various styles;
no complete sets, rambling rows with little reason or rhyme;
a misguided search for all the beauty you could find.
Can’t trace you back to a place where you begin.
Maybe no one place or time was enough to let you in.
My dreams must have called so hard, they drew up a mist
out of every churning steam-spring, with a moan and a hiss,
to roam in sighing winds until collected in one mass wealth
that couldn’t settle down, till you settled up with yourself.
Vapor, spell or birth, however you came to be...
By whatever means, you’re here. Have you come for me?