We want to live life on a nobler plane,
More eloquent arguments, more elegant
Intentions.  We imagine ourselves living
scripts, perfectly written, great exits.

Instead we fold clothes, wash our cars. 
Some days the plants need water.
The cat needs its shots. There is weeding,
Then pruning. Then everything
All over again.

Today I found yesterday’s dirt, stubborn earth
Still lodged contentedly beneath my fingernails.
My fingers are stained with tannin
From persistent forget-me-nots plucked
Constantly, who constantly refusing to be forgotten.

Why bother myself with the Big Questions,
The Big Answers?  The soil, the clothes folded neatly,
Or lying dirty in the basket, these pages
Blank then filling--these are the
Boundaries which contain my exits,
Great or just exits. Commonplace and enough.