Wading through the treacle of my soul,
My to-do list hangs heavy around my neck.
Remembering crisp white wines of summer,
When the world sang of new life.
And friendship.
Drag myself up to the heart of my house.
Activities that require an energetic state of being,
Feel like pushing rocks uphill.
Fill the space with Nusrat,
And the musky scent of the Orient.
Splash around in the water and suds,
To make my house sing.
