I forgot the bag in the bottom bin

I forgot the bag in the bottom bin

behind the milk and the beer.

It’s a thin and a translucent skin

for the things that have happened here.

The leaves have turned to a dark, wet silt,

a pool of a bitter green.

It’s a physical sign of the way I’m built

and the things that I haven't seen.

Time is a liquid, a slow-moving rot

in a cold and a sterile light.

I’m throwing away what I once had bought

and closing the door for the night.