You talk to
yourself when you're awake. (I don't know if you talk to yourself
when you're asleep because I sleep so soundly.) I hear you
in the morning between the walls as you begin your day. "Let's
get a move on," you say. "What a mess!"
You draw the curtains back every morning, which allows me
to see through your patio window. I imagine you're looking
at the clothes on your bed. It's at this time I hear you grunt,
I hear you moving through the room. Ten minutes run away before
I hear you slam the front door.
I don't believe you've done a thing about the "mess"
you addressed yourself to earlier, but you've noticed it.
Which is a beginning. Everything beginning gets a move on.