the search

 the mop is for the footprints from the mouse,

imagined all along the kitchen wall. 

i push the head along the path she ran.

i mop with vague belief that nothing's changed,

the water and the soap are all for show.

The ritual is what I want to do.

I do the same inside the bathroom tub.

I swirl the water ten times with my hand,

creating peace of mind by making waves,

removing Then with circles of a Now. 

I wish for relaxation, but I can't,

I know I have to swim before I surf,

to find the wave that I can ride asleep.