on leaning in

I have always become lost in the simplest of exercises
the
sweep sweep sweep of an almost-wet-mop
across floors cross-hatched with the lines of family
and
lives passed over and through
sweep sweep
the hypnotic dance of the have to
the ordinary course of days
leaving the sublime and the sacred
to
Everest seekers & pole dancers
sweep sweep
sunlight captivates me
hand raised to dust cobwebs laced against the cream puff plaster
27 bones of purpose & design
caught in the fragment
of
light to wall
infinite to mortal
these small worship movements of the day
press me towards open fields of winters wheat and harvest-dust rising
rising rising
leaning into the ordinary