user
Rewrite the following more concisely
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assistant
a poem hidden in ordinary things
I keep a list of what the light does—
the way it slides along the kettle's belly
at six, the way it stalls
in the hallway like a guest
who won't take his coat off.
Nobody asked me to keep this list.
It is not useful. It will not
pay the gas bill or convince
the neighbor to move his car.
But I have noticed that if you write down
the small unremarkable hours,
they stop being small.
The kettle becomes a bell.
The hallway becomes a room
where something is about to happen.
And the light—the light becomes
the only honest thing in the house,
touching everything equally,
the clean dish and the unpaid bill,
the sleeping cat and the man
who cannot sleep.
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