Ode to Lint

Somewhere, in the creases of my mind,
memories fold over themselves,
a tightly woven pattern of mended years.

Somewhere,
in the lines of my face,
shadows from suns long past,
cross and mix with brighter more vivid moments of the day.

Somewhere,
in the crack of my bones,
beneath skin worn thin,
are walks never taken, mountains nearly climbed.

Somewhere,
in the warmth of laundered clothes,
beneath gray downy clouds,
are the remnants of childhood’s passing.
A cavernous lot of dust.
An unending hill of cloth.
A mosaic of material, bright and dark.

Somewhere,
woven within the delicate wisps of light,
the shadowy lines of time,
stretch the fragments of our lives.

Somewhere,
amidst the lint, are the answers to it all.