If they are specks of dust where I imagined
I cleaned then I’ll be chastened, but what if
this is flawed make-believe anyway and I’ll
only see what I visualise; that’s stalemate
in any language – or a guilt trip for me into
territory fantasised being comfortably free
of dust or personality mementos scattered
as evidence I’d ever been there
The sane conclusion’s someone else is here
leaving loosely placed anecdotes where I’ll
apparently encounter them casually – or an
affectation of memory spaced with physical
indication just too circumstantial to be mine
only, and I’ll imagine I’ve cleaned it away
© 19 December 2012, I. D. Carswell
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