Shorter works


I am a faded photo
My image is rubbed through
In places
You can see white
Peering eyes, small jagged windows
Where my image has fallen free
And is travelling
Amongst the dirt and dust and dwindling
As each particle ventures into your living room
Rubbed from the sole of your shoe
Watching your ceiling
Watching you
Watching from ever more locations
In cars, on kitchen floors, along the path under those trees, on the corner of a doorstep, the centre of a road, the tread of an aging gardener’s cycle tyre
As he slowly climbs the hill
Pushing his bike
Exchanging new air for old
Thinking the same thoughts that he did forty years ago
Until he forgets to think at all
But my fragment continues watching the clouds and birds and traffic and feet passing by overhead
And when my image is nothing but white
I will
At last
Be truly omnipresent