comes the everyday, the mundane, the profane, meeting at the X,Y ordinates of ordinary sweat and struggling tears
oh! this stuff of life, makes me groan and wonder out load, what is the purpose beyond the existence of being a constantly in need of maintenance, sustenance machine
then I hear but do not see the hallway pitter patter, the thrumming of purposed direction certain, four little feet who between them don't posses even a decade yet
on their way to the sunroom, now renamed, the playroom, expropriated by their toys of eminent domain, on their way to the life between the before~after / conception~completion and this point, of a single moment, an invisible sound, of this particular life, this extraordinary ordinate, this X,Y locus, this precision perceived location of something real, it is a realized abstraction, the exact point, where my **coordinates are harmonized