The House Is Clean

The house is clean. I refuse

to disclose the details. 

Merely sit and admire. Perhaps 

the house admires me back.

If only I were whole

within these walls. But 

I'm a mere foreground watching,

waiting to launch toward

some conference, where I will 

sit differently yet much

the same. Hearing and expounding

on subjects various and slim.

Word has it, the seasons appear 

formed of selfish absorption, 

taking in the various moisture,

then perspiring.