Sediment

The sun found a way through the blinds today,

a sharp, golden needle pointing upward

at the four wooden wings that haven't moved

since the night the air turned cold.

They are furred with a thick, gray felt,

a year of dead skin and carpet fibers

settling into a permanent coat.

I reached up and dragged a finger through it,

leaving a dark trail in the grit.

It’s a record of every hour I spent

leaning back and looking at the ceiling,

waiting for the seasons to shift.