I sit on the couch staring at my window
Like a camera lens set at a very low aperture
The neighbor’s house across looks blurred
There on the rails of the aluminum frame
I find spiderwebs that I once thought of cleaning
And a few corpses of dead flies in the process of turning into dust
I am told they will resurrect too someday

Above this rail I see a mosquito net panel
Each square centimeter holds a thin layer of dirt
Not the pride of my living room
But to the photographer in me
A collection of micro art now

As a car enters my driveway
I put away the duster from my hand
And open the door for my old man

I forget once again
To clean those spiderwebs and corpses.

-Jose Valle