Forensics

Along the sin of the beach debris line

among the finely chopped bones

white driftwood bones

I find perfect blue in a piece of plastic.

A piece of plastic

a shard, with uneven edges, 

flat and anonymous,

well beyond the question

of what it once had been.

Don’t think of all the blue plastic

containers of cleanliness

(All, Swiffer, litter)

or bottles of motor oil

or maybe the last

remaining fragment

of a dollhouse door.

See only the perfect 

blue of memory:

arcing sky

baby eye

jeans and pools

grandmother’s

second best 

teapot.

012109, rev 032309