I brush the carpet

I thought it could be magic.
I clean the dirt out of it
The years,
the steps,
the last kiss.
I brush it
I strike it
I want it immaculate
without losing the dirty memories
The steps forwards, the ones backwards,
who cares for the direction
when stomping on a forbidden zone?
I wash it, I paint it again
– if necessary –
I paint a new frame
I weave it again
as all this were gone;
I paint it blue and green
like the once-had-a dream
I change it to change
the truth in vain
as if the water could wash from it the pain away.


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