The television is going loud.
Kitchen lights buzz, bright as comets,
light-bees in my head.
I’m washing dishes to find calm and peace,
my friend-element water
clearing and caressing.
Solace.
I’m longing for willow trees
when I hear a low sound
like Tibetan monks chanting
Om
It goes on and on.
Amazed, I seek out the source,
then almost laugh.
The dishwasher is rumbling on,
sending a seed syllable into my bones.
Thank you, I think, for this gift.
Om is everywhere.
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