In the 1970s John Robert Columbo introduced what he called ‘found art’ or ‘found poetry’. What I have found is my own work. Old work. Some of which I have never put on a blog. Some of which I didn’t like at the time but with distant they now appeal to me. (The ones that still didn’t appeal I put back in the not-found-yet file. I think memories are like that too. Especially people. Especially the opposite sex (in my case). Maybe its getting just getting older. But I remember girls from my distant past. They are mere wisps of memory. A girl in Ottawa. That lived next door to my aunt and babysat her kids. While I was there. We talked. Must have been 14 or 15. We liked each other. And then my dad and I returned home. And she slipped back into the fog of time. Can’t remember her name. Or face. She had dark hair. May have been native. What I remember is that she was kind. Found memories. Why do we have them?