Grime

The sting of salt-bleach clings to paved stone in

Shapes that echo coral—

That’s beautiful

The grit of granite dust clings to the bottom of my boot,

Coating my shoes in a world of places walked—

How beautiful

Dust clings to cobwebs

And to old clothes

And to once-loved homes

And to beams of light

That fall through the blinds on a Friday afternoon

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful

As the last drags of coffee drying at the bottom

Of a dirty green mug,

Every particulate sifting itself into eddying swirls,

As the mold under the shower mat

Growing in a place forsaken by sunlight,

As the browning of a flower petal,

Time’s palette painting yellow strokes—

How beautiful

The scuff marks circled around classroom wall sockets,

The brightly-colored lint like

Star flecks on the carpet floor,

The way a crack in the glass resembles constellations—

You could only call that beautiful

The way hair pools on the brush in imperceptibly complex snares

A hundred wisps in open air—

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful

Than when I stopped to look