Thursday Poem

It Goes Like This:

I put on my bare feet
to dance better:

the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing:

I feel all the crumbs of the day,
everything I was meant to brush away,

gone.

A good song,
a lyric,
a string of pretty words;

sweeping
waits.