I put in place
All that you’ve strewn
All over the floor.
I fix the things
That you innocently
Broke, tore or damaged.
I shut the door
So that I can work in solitude
But you must enter…
I sigh… I wonder…
There must be a design
To daily disturbances and infiltration.
Let’s not go by the mere appearances
Of your transgressions
And my consequent upset.
It is the play of love
To demand attention and then,
To be fulfilled in giving it.
To have something to do
Gives you a sense of worth
It gives you purpose
And continuity and
Therefore, an existence.
Time and movement
Are very important
For my sense of self-
And all that ‘I’ embrace…
I must be other than where I am at 5o’clock.
New places, new people, new projects
All of these make my life
So meaningful, so interesting, so glamorous.
Photographed memories of my day
Leave me with an entertaining sense of accomplishment.
Now’s the time to ask:
Is life the story of one person?
Can life remain imprisoned within a personality?
Without memory and pattern
Who am I? Who are you?
What new patterns are you forming?
What new memories are being created?
What new plans are being made?
As life awaits your homecoming
What are you busy with?
Wit. Wisdom. Wonder... 