A fountain of gold drips, lotus water peace hung up on a wall status of a pristine apron never used, simply displayed The dust crowds in all corners a film covers the black bookshelf
It has good bones
And I still weep Bare feet touch kitchen floor cold supple joints tensed to release onto ceramic swirls
The espresso machine blinks Hands flow The grind of the beans, Mini thunder roasted bean oils hit the air reaching into my nostrils to settle dense on hairs I lean into the wall waiting for crema my anklets swaying heart, butterfly charms dance friction echoes, wind chime wholesome the edges glare
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 