One Load In, One Load Out Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

My eight-year-old self running through dust motes of pollen
in a field of meadow flowers, asks
what beauty is ordinary when all matter is extraordinary?
What sunsets don't need to feel regret, don't need to feel remiss,
as each candle is lit and extinguished —
not even the moon escapes causality.

Life is a living language;
the body has an internal child-like voice:
migration, hunger, reproduction,
longing, need, survival — to name but a few.
Heart pounding.
Breath choked away.
Nothing in this world is pointless.
Every organism — even bacteria — is pioneering
in its examination of life in a single cell.

A conscious laundry cycle on full spin:
all colours run together.
One load in, one load out.
No preferences here,
no fashion designer styles,
just a basket of hand-me-downs
doing their utmost best,
dissolving the dirt of childhood and manhood.