The clothes stain
The nurse-like clean
afternoon.
The clothes
hang
On the line,
Furiously improvising
In the wind.
I think of violins,
Lots of violins
In an eagerly united
Movement,
An attempt to clarity
And a wholesome thought.
The clothes rest.
When I regain sight of God
The world smoothly
flows within me,
colorful beads
In pacifying remembrance.
