washing the dishes

by dm gillis

what am I
compared to the years
remembered at stop signs
surrounded now
by the souls of forks and spoons
when the truth is that
I am always leaving

leaving on rockets the
squall of DNA
that persuades the genes
laying the fabric of my eyes
the grainy eventfulness
of my yellow evolution
the odd gravity of the plates
in water how they fall
like leaves in atmospheres
and talk like animals at the bottom

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