Not Seeing

They asked me to describe it—

the crack above my bed.

Two years I've stared at it

before sleep, after waking.

I couldn't picture it.

Not one detail held.

I went upstairs and looked.

It zigzags from the corner,

gets thinner toward the middle,

one branch goes toward the window.

I stared for five minutes.

Left the room.

It was already gone.

I see it every day.

I've never seen it once.