There are minutes when I’m bored
and my brain and my fingers don’t know
what to do, so I scroll through Twitter
or Facebook or the New York Times,
allowing each new post to settle
onto my mind, one by one like motes
of silver dust, until I’m blanketed
by dirt and detritus
and crud.

Through the window, meanwhile,
the sky is clear and the birch
are shimmering in the breeze.