no way. no, never, will you ever clear
each speck of dirt. sweep from the deepmost nook,
work toward the door. perfect the brooming shear.
work with, where possible, the wind. don’t look

at what you didn’t get. let be, grimy
invisible. sweep apophatically.
with care, share only with comrade dustpan
her mighty load, then dump it in the can.

enjoy the heaping sum of refuse, check
the weightless substance of the dingy scruff.
appreciate — that banished pile of dreck!
but even now, how floats the flaky fluff…

how, catching air, it drifts away — don’t look!
and, knowing not what has been tossed, or what
remains, respect the barren act. the dust
is all. submit it, and be done. dander

is for nobody. or at least, not you —
a sweeper calls the nameless, residue.

//

(a series, maybe)