after your friend dies, do the dishes.

deep in the lair of all-knowing this one majestic sweep of hair, this final

brushing out of bristling, this final repast, this final peace. we strive

to make things perfect when most ugly, make the brutal a kind of placid

lake. where was her staying hand when it was needed? what will it take

to nestle the boundariless? we fall

prey to small motions and forget how to dazzle with earth-bold wholeness.

small notions of the daily wheel distract. if i can make it through

five minutes, a twelfth of an hour, i can make it through this day, two times

twelve more of these, and the wheel of earth spins thirty times thirty

times thirty (perhaps) of these with us goggled up to space and time.

learn the rhyme. suck the rind. peal the chime. start the climb.

fool the find. strut the kind. sharp the mind. crack the grind.

grace the line. trust the thyme. fly the sign. suck the lime.

grin the dime. close the blind. brew the brine. berm the mime.

stop the crime. try to shine. praise the shrine. words align.

craze the clime. scour the grime. halve the prime. nag the nine.

gaze behind. raze the whine. erase what’s signed. primp what’s pined.

bury the mined. slurp the slime.

these are the many armed rhymes in the spider wheel of time that realign
my mind to mind the clime and climb the mine. and the wheel of the earth
spins thirty times thirty time thirty (perhaps) of these. may we bless the rind 
and find our thyme. may our dance be sweet.