Dawn, that old hooker light of the world
returns from wherever she spent the night in the world.
Dust motes randomly dance on a yellowish beam,
soft-nudging my dream to a flight from the world.
So much to do…sweep and dust, dust, and it’s
dusty again! It feels like a fight with the world.
It’s important not to be eaten, at least for today,
or be carried away by the huge appetite of the world.
In their globular bowl, small fry hang among floating
green fronds, hide in the watersprite from the world.
You chocolate mustachioed child, how I love
how your day is another big bite of the world.
Such lucky animals, those who have learned
when to be—and not be—polite in the world.
All of a sudden the day is riddled with hiccups
here as I say once again gesundheit to the world.
One eventually comes to notice the colors of dust—
so many shades between black and white in the world.
I know by a certain color of blue—and also
because we have music, something is right in the world.
WHAT IN THE WORLD