No corner goes undusted. 

Pace between corridors—

These four walls, a palace. 

Work-zone, chef’s line, 

place of rest, 

place of worship. 


We notice new corners. 

Polish them, sterilized for our pacing. 


Our calves brush the edges of days. 

Mornings blend as we walk

from one room, and back again—

a timeless holster.

History inhales, and holds.


Windows are new things.

Masks for new kinds of skyfall.

Barriers between collective them,

and nuclear us. 


We scrub them—

through screens, we watch a season change. 


What discoveries hide in these walls? 

Which lie atop counters? Which shrivel under floorboards? 

Which are shrouded by custom, 

our routine eyes? 


Ruptured habits—

                    Between a door frame,

                    my toes catch a homebound finding:

                    a scratch in our porcelain. 

                    Take note, and pass.