Wiping the spider mites
off the gardenia,
I am not proud of the work.
I know the nearly invisible pests
will not go away
if nothing is done.
The gardenia will die
if they thrive.
I reduce us all to protons
and electrons, gluons and quarks,
all of us more similar than not,
perhaps even exchanging
parts as I move the damp cloth
across the leaves
in an attempt
to keep something whole
even as the world
spins apart.