A night of rain. Today the leaves are glossy
clean. Like glasses from behind a bar
that sat for years accumulating dirt
and spiders, till one day the barman took
them down and washed them. Like the unused dressy
shoes that hid their dust in closets, far
from public view, until a brand-new shirt
called for a polished pair, to make the look.

An unattended heart can gather grime
and rain won’t sluice away the hidden layers
that build up like the black-lung in a coal
extractor’s chest. It’s lethal stuff. It’s time
I paid some more attention to my prayers.
A finger’s writing “WASH ME” on my soul.

wash+me

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