I Hope I Stick

The pile
of garbage
that accumulates as  we grow
of childhood treasures
of left socks
photographs
of old loves
lost or forgotten
of letters
promises
and songs
and artists
and books
and stories
and books
and books

the pile
growing higher
the more we live
the more we grow
the more we shed
the more we leave behind

Sometimes we sort
and poke through
sometimes we sulk
and bury
and sometimes
we are stained
burned
involuntarily
heavy weights
under its masses.

Out of this pile
I hope not
to be one faded
or forgotten
or crushing
no.
I hope that
I stand
out
(like you in mine)
glisten
and stick
like dawn
a good dance
a friend
like the scent of spring
humming
out amongst all the garbage
to greet you
clean
and untainted.