Lint

The lint clings on to your shirt
And if it fell, it would be hard
A long way down
To bury itself into
The dirty underground
On the surface of heavy steps
Invisible to anything but an ant
That sees it as a fallen cloud
Coming from the giants‘ sky.
Would end up flat and long and thin
Like a single thread
Again
Could knit a house if it had to
You’d wear it as a sweater
But you wouldn’t recognise it then
Because of the comfort colours
And the absence of its desperation
To make a safe place
For the sound of the voodoo drum
That beats just like your heart
One beat skips the half note
And couldn’t be full without the other
And lay all day waiting for a day
To watch it come together.