The Dreams Don't Keep.

Apr 06, 2008 - 18:20 PM PST

Growing its fuzzy,
browning mold,
We've realized it's far past its expiration date.

Crinkled noses,
pinching it between two fingers, hold
it out at arms length, so
apparently appalled.

When did we put that there?
We wonder
musing with our recollection,
forgetting why
we thought it so important to save at all.

Disposal-
Immediate and relieving,
we sigh
and lean against each other.

Then, with automatic repulsion,
we come back
to our bodies,
back to silence
filling our air,
whispering tiny breaths,
trying not to disturb
the soundlessness around us,
trying not to break
the delicate existence,
so precisely carved into the etching of our lives.

Washing our hands, up to the elbows,
then some,
vigorously scrubbing
at fingertips,
trying to remove possible remains,
slowly sighing,
our exhales telling
what we're always knowing,
what we're always fearing,
what we can't ignore--

the dreams don't keep.