Who would have thought that so much dust could gather
On every surface? Its like Miss Haversham
Lives here. Cobwebs form lacy curtains,
Grey dust accumulates. Life unravels.
Me, I prefer to deal with living dirt –
Wet footprints, slick with the good earth,
Spilt juice, sweet and sticky, laking
Across the table’s stripped pine desert
And I love silence, but I love the clatter
Of feet on stairs, hard debate, easy chatter,
And the hot beat of the music that you play,
That matters so much, and yet doesn’t matter.
This is (probably) my last rubaiyat for this month’s form challenge. I’m linking it to the original rubaiyat post from Frank, and to Jilly’s post on imagery in the rubaiyat.