TO PUSH SOMETHING ASIDE
I brush breadcrumbs off the breakfast table,
randomly, like a thought that surfaces
and disappears. It will take some time to fill the floor,
we’re only at the beginning of the history
that will become visible, and a light sweep
of the hand is enough to push something aside.
All we have swept under the carpet and brought in
wearing our boots will be collected together
and discarded. I look out the window at a lawn,
and know that just a spit beneath it lies the clay
as protection against a thousand-year history below
of sand and scraps that can be pushed aside.
We can always delve deeper into matter by looking
at computer screens, housing estates and a glittering
sea shivering with early morning cold. When we sail
on a membrane among granite rocks that resemble
well-turned catches on a large window, with a deeper insight,
we often, imperceptibly easily, choose to push everything aside.
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