Sweep

Sweeping the folds of
my memory, I come up
with a pan full of dust
and glitter. I hold it.
What will I do with this pan?
Surely I cannot just
throw it away. Surely,
there is something more
constructive to be done with it.
My fingers buried in
the waste of yesterday,
I try
to form something solid
out of entropy,
to craft innocent sparkles
into something that will
last longer than a spark.
Aren't I embarrassed
to be caught like this,
hands dirty with hope deferred,
so close to the resolution
of the trash can?
Look at my life.
I have never been able
to part with the small
glittering potentials that
hide in corners everywhere.
I carry them with me
and my touch turns
everything not to gold,
but to the glimmer of loss.

~September 26, 2010