in moments of dust and color
home, a dark hutch, waits
beyond blooming
full bellied life
lined with objects on
every shelf, breathing
the glint of their thing-ness
my eyes crack open
to plain significance
when morning asks for more
for the desperate wish
of breathing my own
glint
handled gently so
as one handles an orb,
I river through each
room of home
plucking here and there
the wilt
of life and togetherness
