between the lines

it's the wrist
against the car, polishing,
giving shine,
the broom
pulled against
the floor
corralling dirt,
it's the brush against
a wall,
being pulled down
then up,
applying paint.
it's the motion of an arm
reaching out
to take a dollar
to give a ticket,
it's the wave of the ocean,
persistent,
doing what it was born to do.
it's the mundane
that fills
the world, the rest,
love and death, art,
falls between the lines.