what was I doing?
Perhaps I was doing the dishes
folding the clothes
building invisible bridges, or
perhaps
I was counting revolutions
I was planting solutions
I was making a daisy chain
from the flowers stuck in my drain
I was sending my pain to the moon and
the moon is not a dustbin full
the moon has imaginings, beginnings, endings
the moon, a fuel, it recycles until the star has grown super
and new