My life revolves around laundry soap,
meals that burn, dogs that bark, floors begging to be swept
Where are the things that matter?
I imagine lovers touching gently in the night;
talk with friends; drumming the moon; candles, and glowing satori.
Life revolves, around toilet paper,
dishes to be washed, kids that need tending.
What makes me think that death
would make this any more real?
I breathe deeply. hold a dish to be washed,
javish it with suds, breathe and wash,
breathe and wash—
each dish an offering.
With each breath, let life begin.
Grass Range, Montana