a_seventh

A Seventh Sense

You listen
   to the soft sound
     of the straw broom
       as it crawls across
          the kitchen floor
            not on its own
              but by the brain's touch.

              You listen
                 alive and at ease
                   with no mind
                     of the damp dust
                       for the ancient speech
                         of a rich dirt come
                           from an old earth.

                           You watch
                              in the quiet
                                of the day's chore
                                  and wait for nothing
                                    unique, yet you wait
                                      with attention to take
                                        a cosmic pulse.

                                        You smell
                                           the wet stench
                                             of basement must
                                               come creeping
                                                 up the stairs
                                                   as you sweep
                                                     down

                                                     Then you taste
                                                        the sweet breeze
                                                          of gardenias
                                                            as you squeeze
                                                              open the garden
                                                                door to the day's
                                                                  arising.

Clarity

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