Accumulation

I knocked the glass over at 3 A.M.

fumbling for a dream I’d already lost.

The light from the lamp is a harsh witness

to the things I’ve let pile up beside my head.

An electric bill I haven't opened yet,

a pocketknife with a blade that's gone dull,

and a moth that died weeks ago,

its wings stuck to a cardboard coaster.

The water is soaking into the wood,

widening the white, cloudy ring

that’s been there since the winter.

It’s a map of every time

I was too tired to be careful.