Everything has its place, and time. Some things, sometimes,
don’t want to be put away, they want to be visible and present,
so that when you are ready to notice them they will be there,
waiting patiently for your awareness.

The unwashed teacup is simply resting, until such time
as you offer the caress of your hands in a warm bath
of cleansing. There is no judgement from the cup, just
patience and contentment in its wholeness.

The open magazine, folded back on itself since
last February, has merely been spending time catching up
on missed readings, enjoying the imprint page and readers’ selfies
that are generally not given the time.

The ***** laundry on the tiled bathroom floor has a
real opportunity to co-mingle in ways
that a sorted chest of drawers or double-rack hang space
would never allow—so they too are grateful.

All waits patiently until such time as you,
sometimes gradually, sometimes suddenly,
are unburdened enough, attentive enough,
accepting enough, to respect each thing in turn,
and help each to find its place with you.