i watch the kettle for boiling and the sun carry dust in its beams.
nothing’s ever really clean in the brightness.
yet even a vaguely tidy kitchen lends its freshness to my spirit.
order asserts herself as the chaos begins to bubble.
i close my eyes & await the whistle:
whatever comes pouring out, i sip with joy.
for this home rewards rest; this kitchen turns mayhem to mist.