Things Undone

Visiting my pile

Of things undone.

Such heaviness and shame

Over the clutter

A sense of unendingness

To its resolution

Each time I clear it out

It just returns again

What is the purpose

Of this repetition?

Have I taken on too much?

Without allowing time to digest?

When I ask for guidance

I see a field of yellow flowers.

Growing in the place the pile

Had been.

Plant something good for

Yourself and others

It’s okay if the toolshed

gets messy sometimes.