99poems/carpet

After the carpet cleaners
have left,
but before material life
re-constitutes itself
in its corners and cracks,
I sit down in my rocking chair
in the dining room,
not its usual place.
Shaking things up,
as I used to do on a regular basis.
I switch photos, pots of weeds,
baskets and plants,
finessing that quarter of an inch
for precision.
I sit in my chair and listen to music,
staring out the window,
as I used to do.

18/17/99