Cleaning Up

And in the silence
I start to wipe a shelf.
My palm print reveals cherry veneer,
forces the one year old dust
into the air,
to roll and collide
with the sunlight.

I sit,
let this film of dust
cloud my eyes.
I give in to images of thicker dust
lining wide avenues,
crossed and recrossed
with a million footprints
waiting patiently
to claim their owners.