Durga, sweeping the floors, around and about the stools
collections of the days missed food
and the ever-present everywhere cat fur,
as we know the embryos of dust bunnies and possibly more.
She wonders and I channel her thoughts here-to-fore
for you dear readers, all the more:
 
“A gift,” she whispers to me.
“We discussed dust bunny origins in an earlier poem’s book,
for children are the only beings who would seriously think to look.
“Schrodinger’s Dust Bunny anyone?”
 She laughs and gravity waves crest then ripple
in the sands of time
and on the beaches of the various universes.
 
“The ever present negative attraction
which no amount of tape can roll its eradication.
And here one is, stuck to my gown
a new universe in my hand bound.
Each day a new beginning. So light and so full of hope.”
She stops to look about, and gives me a poke.
“Take these notes and here’s my broom now practice my strokes!”
 
I demur and I attempt to collect the dusty fur balls.
Sweeping, collecting, directing,
sweeping clean, watching as they skip along,
becoming denser and denser until their mass ball up
where gravity and Dugra herself takes hold  
realizing where ever she, the bearer and birth of the gravitons… beholds.
 
“All in the box to be compressed.
Our earlier errors will now be redressed.
Tomorrow it begins again,” she calmly commands.
She laughs with broom and a wave of her of her hand.
A universe comes and a universe goes.
And 100s of billions of years pass in just a single sweep of both.
 
End


Please note:
(A poem is the only way to converse with a goddess of her most highness.
It’s not always linear nor is infinity when her message to you is let loose.
But of course, of course not without some rhyme and reason, or it’s a mad mans’ curse).