If I listen

The tap drains, I haven't fixed it
the little drops could have made an ocean, that's what you would say
I drag my tools, to put math into the equation,
I plant a stone in the waterfall's way

the bread lacks salt and good yeast, but I only make bread
with the residue of  yesterday's corn and today's disappointments
and my day has been charming, so far

in the room, I sit reading, in a dress of sunflowers
I tangle concepts into eight figures, try to make sense of
the way commas run and stop, from the leather chair rock
the dress is long but the eyes are short, 
and the riffs are strong, yet the strings are from threads
what you see is what you get

today I have leased a room from distance,
the dripping in my bathroom is loud
in the kitchen bread is grey with grief
if you were true, the waters we swam
could become an ocean
 we stop tasting the riptide to know salt is an addition,
a primal necessity-the material makes due the man-
if I listened I wouldn't look the grounds for active ants
if I truly listened I wouldn't have the river for a bed.