morning lines #111

everything i don’t know or understand
floats in on a molecule of dust--dirty and unseen--
like the mites and dog under the comforter with me,
breathing as if muddled, muffled, or mute,
when the dog’s nostril sends out a chord in e minor,
and an ambulance squeals in the distance,
and everything i don’t know or understand
exits on the same molecule out the rear window and
over the neighbor’s weathered and weathering fence