The Drop

I reached for the inhaler in the dark of the night,

and fumbled it down past the reach of the light.

I had to heave the whole mattress away from the lath

to see where the small things had taken their path.

A receipt for a sandwich, a battery dead,

a kingdom of grey lint gathered under the head.

There’s a strip of the hardwood, narrow and cold,

where the dust and the shadows are starting to hold.

It’s a gap in the room where the vacuum can’t go,

collecting the pieces I didn't want to know.