There is a type of poem, the Found Poem, that records an author’s discovery of the beauty that occasionally occurs in the everyday discourse of others. Such a poem might be words scrawled on a wadded scrap of paper, or buried in the classified ads, or on a billboard by the road. The poet makes it his or her poem by holding it up for us to look at. Here the Washington, D.C., poet Joshua Weiner directs us to the poetry in a letter written not by him but to him. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Found Letter

What makes for a happier life, Josh, comes to this:   

Gifts freely given, that you never earned;   

Open affection with your wife and kids;   

Clear pipes in winter, in summer screens that fit;   

Few days in court, with little consequence;   

A quiet mind, a strong body, short hours   

In the office; close friends who speak the truth;   

Good food, cooked simply; a memory that’s rich   

Enough to build the future with; a bed   

In which to love, read, dream, and re-imagine love;   

A warm, dry field for laying down in sleep,   

And sleep to trim the long night coming;   

Knowledge of who you are, the wish to be   

None other; freedom to forget the time;   

To know the soul exceeds where it’s confined   

Yet does not seek the terms of its release,   

Like a child’s kite catching at the wind   

That flies because the hand holds tight the line.