An Account

It does not want so it does
not want to be
included. If it falls
off the window ledge
the experience is ours:
dust does not perceive
the view it drops

through to a lake that is
neither wet nor dry
for either the dust or itself, being
selfless. Surrounded
by stones that don’t know
their location on the map
our feet enact

under a sun that is said to
set by us, yet never does,
the current directs weed without
intention: good and bad belong
elsewhere. If our daughter
sinks for the third time
it is of no account to the sludge

she stirs but does not disturb.