Sometimes, no matter how hard I try
To pay attention to the little things
That happen anyway,
Sometimes, it seems, I simply can’t apply
My wayward focus to the nuts and springs
Of yet another day:
I stare into my screen as numbers fly –
The day-long daydreams dream, the maybes sing,
The permutations run…
I couldn’t tell you how or when or why,
But even as the tangents loop and swing,
So still the work gets done.
I’m barely here, but still my seeing eyes
And typing fingers track and dart and ping
Throughout each random trance.
My mouth is talking – am I telling lies ?
I couldn’t say, I wasn’t listening…
But oh, how the dust motes dance !