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swish, swish, knock
swish, swish, knock
a rhythm, a metronome
once a week,
usually Sunday

you felt very near to me today, also a Sunday,

me weeping while sweeping, or vice versa

my movement conjured you, conjured the once-me and the eternally you/
me, looking down from the landing//
you, nearing the top of the 2-flat stairs
in your white t-shirt
looking up over your thick glasses at me, with your big eyes
with your snaggle-toothed smirk, mustached/
broom in your beautiful hands / pure lank, elegance

had i snapped a photo of you on them stairs
with that look/

and, what if i had!
could you ever become a once-person, an image
in a box, on a hard drive,
in or on a cloud, to me
and not a living moment on a Sunday,
pulled in from the ether, so present,

me sweeping while weeping, or vice versa
in this quiet, rural place so unrecognizable from
our once-city-home /

i never bothered to count the stairs

and, all them chances

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