The Details

You can’t enumerate them.
You can’t catalogue them all.
When the body’s claims recede

Enough they’re not uppermost,
And the same for social claims,
The world comes to attention,

Your attention, suddenly
Swarming with particulars—
A bit of dust in the sun,

Mud flecks on a passing truck,
The way the dry straw’s tangled
With sunflowers by a wayside.

Stop there. You’ll never finish.
But it feels good doesn’t it,
Awareness of all you aren’t.