There is a desk before me.
On it are piles of paperclips,
a highlighter bouquet in a baby food jar.
Small stacks of paper, a box of beads,
a turtle shell filled with drill bits, twist ties.
A stapler,
this and that.
These things consume me,
their correct configuration.
I slide them first here, these with those,
then there, each thing alone.
I rearrange, and rearrange, and rearrange.
Above the desk there is a window.
Outside it is a craggy tree,
a jay, a rose-colored mountain,
falling snow, a red squirrel hurrying by.
A chickadee,
this and that.
