If I were a giant

Towering from above

I would kneel and kiss the ground.

But since I am ordinary,

Small,

I will walk along with eyes downward

Dreaming of the cool dust and dirt of this

Familiar path upon my lips.

 

Your ceiling at night

Is a Vasarely

Ever moving, ever staying.

My love seems to well, but does not breach,

Or break.

It grows and appears dangerous

But does not crash.

 

I am a mule.

A horse.

A bull.

A tractor.

If you must use me

Use me wisely –

Or watch

For

The dust

To

Rise.

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