Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Meditation from my Morning Run

I admire the sidewalk sweepers
in their crisp, clean clothes
At dawn

The world made new
by their quiet attentions
heads bowed to the task.

There are few cars at that hour.

Very little noise at all and I can hear
my labored breathing,
the press of my shoes upon the pavement

When I think to take my headphones off.

I admire their attentions.

The care placed upon appearances
The soft swish of the needles
The rhythm of the brooms.

My rhythm is more insistent--
--faster, farther, more more more--
no goal in mind but speed and

The sweeper's goal is fraught
with failure, every day
a new mess to clear. And yet

They carry on,
Spartans at the gate
Of a sleeping city.

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