Sonnet #35

A met a zen master, once, who praised
The daily chore of making dishes clean
He did this task by hand, he prayed
while he worked, to the beauty of creation
Be in that moment, where what we ate
What entered our bodies to preserve us
Now is what’s left, the dirty pots, the plates
Still carry the textures, the smells, plus
there’s the soap, the water hot and cold
The wonder of all those different senses
Engaged, the physical act of making clean
Wiping everything clean, all that is spent
All that is saved, all that is felt but unseen
Every sense engaged, night coming soon
Be in that moment, alone in that room.

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