Intersections

I am cleaning the bathroom tile.
I have a pink sponge in my right hand
and a book of poetry in my left.

I am cleaning the bathroom tile
and I am thinking about lines
and intersections. 

I am thinking about the lines of my life 
and the way things join for a time
and then continue on a predetermined path.

I am thinking about paths and how they cross
and the way they sometimes turn at right angles 
and then intersect with other paths.

I am wondering about angles I have taken,
and what was behind me when I turned
and what was left behind.

I am cleaning the bathroom tile 
and I am reading about life and gravel and the sea
and how they intersect.

I am reading about the sea.
The sea has no lines. It is one
fluid movement without a crossroad. 

I am thinking about crossroads
and the way they collide two travelers
but not the way the ocean collides with the sand.

I am thinking about collisions.
I am remembering the way we fell 
into each other’s steps for a time.

I am remembering our footsteps
and how they were in sync and we danced
until one of us no longer heard the music and we tripped.  

I am thinking about you and me
and the lines of our lives
and they read like poetry.

I am cleaning the bathroom tile
and I am thinking about intersections.
There are no perpetual crossings.

January 16th 2012 03:02am.

You know you’re stressed when sleep starts to feel like a waste of time, and you begin to visualise all the tasks you could complete in the same eight hours when you’re catching your zZz.

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