March 11, 2025

mud season

What will unfold today?
On my list: lukewarm, opaque efforts.
The labor of emptying a dishwasher feels gargantuan.
Another heavy bag of cat litter. Potholes.  

My thoughts chip away at a wall.
There is a pair of scissors, batteries, a bobby pin.
I watch my hands for signs of movement,
to get to the part where everything makes sense.

A clock is running down, somewhere.
What if nothing needs doing until it does?