Momentary lapse in concentration

I'm sorry for the way
my brisk stride disturbs
the settled atmosphere
of the air around me.

The air did nothing to deserve that.

I felt lost until you found me,
then I left before I could
find myself. 

Now there isn't a leaf, blown 
carelessly onto the pavement, 
that I couldn't disturb with
the weight of my heavy shuffling.

How worthy is a master carpenter
without a developed taste for
art in their work? 

I'd rather be the architect-
at least then you'd be 
immortalized in my imagination,
instead of the cause of momentary
lapses in my concentration.