26 March 2011

Sweeping, Blue, Red, Green.....

swell and rise of tumult,
street-loud, under the ceiling,

she tries to mop it up with
sponges and soft words

to no avail, dancing with
the broom, short strokes

dragged against the nap
of the carpet, blue, red, green,

blue, red, green again, the
one last stubborn thread (a

strand from a scarf?) immovable,
immutable, curved into a question

mark she marks and goes on
her way

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