Lint
Beneath the brushed wing of the mallard
an awkward loveliness
Under the cedar lid a mirror
and a box in a box
Blue is all around
like an overturned bowl.
What to do with this noise
and persistent lint.
the larder filled past caring?
How good to revolve
on the edge of a system
small, unimaginable, cold.
.
by Rita Dove
from To Read a Poem
Holt, Rinehart, Winston, 1992
.