We have so many windows.

A grey cement floor,
A bucket, a mop,
My red happy shoes are squeaking
On the damp floor.

Making circles
Of magic mirrors
Around where I stand.
The sunlight reflecting
On the glassy floor
Distorts my vision
And my image in the water

The water and soap
Scrubbing away
Coffee conversations
Of past days,
And mud from boots
That carried the forest in.

There’s a magic in the bubbles
And the water
Dancing with the light,
Becoming one.

We have so many windows.