Brooms fighting night's lilt
always another layer
besets the eyes of dawn.
Where are the dust's origins
or where is chooses to hide
not the notion we contemplate
when facing the dues of our travail.
Though it seems so pointless
this venture against the lace of soil,
we still sweep against its gritty tide
because we think it mars our view.
Yet, learning in the sweeps of unveiling
the habits to face a lifetime,
how are footprints can have identity
on floors where others stroll.
What we question
for its void in voice
often has a song
learned by listening
until we can truly see ourselves
among the surfaces
that we have cleaned and touched.
Honorable winner
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