Schmutz

Spots, specks, smears, daubs, prints
Left on the glass—pets
Or a child, damp hands—

When the sun hits them
Just so, you know what
They are, just the facts,

The clues left for you
In the past, by past
Change. Now, glass means things—

The child was this high.
The pet was a cat.
They went out and in.

The child might have teased
The cat. There might have
Been a few hard bumps.

So, that’s your life, friend,
Not this tale, that door.
The dirt’s what you’re left,

Each smudge life made. Here
Is a thing that was.
Wipe it off; it’s gone.

It was not. You weren’t,
All the clues stripped, glass
Cleaned bare in the sun.

Might as well know this.
Might as well like flecks.
They’re what you have left,

The tale that goes blank,
That no one could tell.
Be glad it snags light.