September 17
Room Enough
A layer of dust
Coats the room
I sneeze
You laugh
And I would resent it
But that seems like a waste
You pull out the feather dusters
To brush all the surfaces
And we become accomplices
In a light excavation
It is rendered
A fluffy gray snow
Disgusting
But beautiful
When paired with the sun
I look to you
My eyes watering
You think for one reason
I know another
Is this what it is
What mythology spoke of
Am I in the throes
Of something so great
You roll your dry eyes
As you reach for the broom
And sweep around
My statue
Eventually I reanimate
And grab the dustpan
And we finish the mundanity in concert
You crack open the window
And cotton air is replaced by clean
You lean against the sill
I lean against you
We have done it
You have done it
I don't want to move
Eons could pass
And that moment would stick
Maybe get covered in dust
But always stay
In the way
We know
We cannot











