did you find delight
of which I taste a shadow
in the daily drill
of cotton swabbing
(sacrosanct despite manufacturers’
warning labels stamped in
futility on the packaging)?
Did you mind the dirt,
the stoop to toil different
deities wouldn't deign
to make for mere dust?
Where other gods demand
a sacrifice, a service,
you turned scepter into trowel
and started digging.
What satisfaction flooded
in, as carved canals emptied
their clodding clutter
and tympanic drums
beat in rhythmic life,
receiving waves of sound?
An open ear. A body prepared
to hold the divine will
and to do it. “He who has
ears, let him hear.”