There Comes a Point When You Must Take Out

There comes a point when you must take out
everything in your wallet. Cleaning out
the old receipts, the dirty bills,
the cash machine's reports of drain
makes something almost new again
of the emptied space in which is left
only what you want and must keep most
close to you. Your cards, your scraps,
your pieces of identity and all that's dear
are free to sleep,
protected by these walls,
unhectored by the gibber
of all the petty history that you were forced to gather.
Here, for one brief afternoon
or morning or a night, they and you may breathe
quietly, 
in this atmosphere of light
that has nothing in it to endow
but, for you and they, the simple blessing of the now. 

November 13 2010