A wash		

I'm careful now, not to tear,
to lift the flap
that keeps the air and water out.

Circular motions, bristles
calculate acute angles, rasping whispers,
unfixing the grime of a thousand boxes.

This is a protective layer -
a leather, worn bare in patches,
where metal met it and exchanged forces.

Everything leaves its mark, but these
light touches surely drained away,
mixed themselves to suds and sea ...

In running waters I am a dam.
Washing my one, my only pair.
The ones I'm careful not to tear.


Cor, 19-2-99