Entropy

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You filled the crater
left by our front doorknob
meteoring a plasterboard
wall. You sanded and
oiled floors,
skating on
plasticbagged feet.
You dust, wash clothes
and dishes,
cook, clean, mend
lightfittings, fashion
window frames, bookshelves,
our daughters’ oregon beds,
call plumbers,
bricklayers,
insurers and
tree loppers.
You are a vulcanologist
conducting outdoor ovens
to perfect crumb and
crust with blacksmith
gloves.
You fill daily
voids with words, mindful
practices, suttas, considered
meals, yogic
scheming wrought from
Buddhist scholars and –
throughout – you encourage
me to face this fear of
entropy.
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