until the wind stops blowing
and for fear of losing the hair
off the top of the back of my
legs to the mere force of the
breeze
i should lay off the beans
fart
my dog farted and it smelled like poop
poetryso i–sniffing
incessantly–scanned
this house–sure i’d
find it somewhere
waiting to be discovered
like some ironic twist
at the end of a rainbow
when it struck me: how
many of us live
our lives like this?
the sieve and the sand 