Monday, November 28, 2005

Last Year

Last year I
learned to look
beneath her bed
for dust
to watch it
dance
with the sweep
of a bedskirt
and settle itself
differently
every time.

Unlike the way
paint dries
to bristles stiff
and unwilling
to bend even
for art's sake
or push into
that
which cannot
be, the dust
resolved
to dull
the brightness ever
for want.

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