But it may be converted between
a number of different forms.
When I brush the cat, she purrs.
When I dust the house, grime
accumulates. Garbage is

taken out to the can, then to the dump.
Our compost eventually turns to soil.
But the weight I've lost recently,
my daughter looks at me and asks:
Where did the pounds go?

A sensible question. I sit her down,
explain as best I can. You see, at first,
I hid them. One pound at a time under
the rocks in the garden.  Others given away
in mason jars. Later, I strung them

like festive baubles in the pine,
alternated with cranberries and nuts.
I bury them in mounds, burn them
in a pyre; then sleep unhindered,
awaken refreshed.