I mosaic because I can’t fly. I mosaic to keep my head down. I mosaic because of a promise I made. I mosaic to keep in tune. I mosaic to keep in time. I mosaic in order to not mosaic. I mosaic to please the stone. I mosaic because sometimes I lie awake in the middle of the night, and sometimes the windows are open in our bedroom, and I hear the geese calling to each other as they fly over.
I mosaic because of that old woman with the piercing eyes who walks down our street with her stroller, on her way for groceries, and who said to me the other day, while I was picking up bits of a broken beer bottle in the street, “Lot more trash in the neighborhood these days.” And I said, “Yes, yes, there is.” And she said, “Beautiful day, though.” And I said, “Yes, it is.” And the wind was blowing, and she shuffled on, and I still had work to do.