with my inside out, among the lint and pebbly motes that
line the frayed seam, there in the dimpled corner of the pocket,
lies the forgotten

with a contorted wrist and extended fingertip I burrow
and I search and I probe and I find

among the bunched fabric
a hole

hope
on the rug

oddly no dreams
leaked

those instead 
tend to seep

content 
unsafe
so fragile

once
back inside
the pour
I felt
I felt
I felt

cc: CC 2020