I’m the smallest detail
I’m the smallest detail within a fabric,
yet unnoticed
I’m not friday evenings, or monday mornings
I’m the midday within a saturday
I’m the zeal which kindles up
when life’s not worth-living
I’m that pointed edge of a judge’s gavel,
that sounds to convict or acquit
I’m the lightest fibre within the darn
of a sock
I’m that only grey hair that stands up
with an ethnocentric demeanour
I’m the holding compartment of a toothbrush
That compartment that’s usually held
I’m the hole in the key holder
I’m that pillow case,
upon which countless dreams
and nightmares have trod
I’m that dew that usher in the dawn
or that sunrise on sundays
I’m that button around the collar
of a t-shirt that holds the tie intact
I’m that greased paper that contains
phone numbers or test pen inks
I’m the asterisk that appears when
a password is typed
I’m that corner of the house
that’s been alienated by the household
I’m either midday-breaks or the usual
coffee mug that serves breakfast
I’m the smallest detail
I’m that smallest forgotten detail


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