A scrap of newspaper clipping
Print streaking my fingers like running mascara
Wiped away from leaky eyes
Place it in my back pocket
Remove my dusty jeans, slide them to the door
To the basket, to the wash
Forgetting the leaflet
Let it wash away in the darkness
Let me sleep the sleep of the innocent
Fold this year into pulp
Into droplets strained
Into the chilling river
Down to the mountains
Down in the ocean it drifts
And i float to the sunrise, flitting like dander
The thought of the clipping, rubbed away from me
And the world, ten trillion gallons of salt water
Swirling, washing, swallowing it away
Good morning
December 2005