“Cleaning Out”

An Elegy to Dust

Years later, lying there waiting,

I will find the silence –

the void of a song

that smells of soapy water and the starch

of dust. I will forget to sing

as I clean, the remains of time

spotting the underside of my bed

in small bursts of forgotten.

What is left is the soil

of time, fallen soldiers of pollution,

burning meteorites of memories,

the skin of my fingertips.

I will salute

the language of the past,

translated into echoes of good-

byes that were never quite finished.

There is healing in this sweeping,

in the farming of the fruit

that was never to blossom.

There is healing in this ending

that was never quite finished,

as I find you, years later,

lying there waiting.

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