You Don’t Do Ritual

Sound of a bell. Heel of a sandal on a foot in a toe sock lands on a pavement slab. Waving piece of cloth. Clenched fist at the end of an outstretched arm. Eyes watch. Bubbles. Scent of citruses. Water. Warm enough to dissolve but not so hot as to bite. Fingers buried in a scrub sponge. Grease. Glass. Metal. A bit of plastic. Slides through. Shake. Put. Next.

When you are present,
All movements are liturgy,
Sacred cosmic rite.

Not one moment earlier. Not a moment later. It’s memories that create past; it’s fantasies that create future. All is perceived now.