some say it looks like the sun
the bending of the wind
and the coiling of laughter.
it is in the source of a choice
and in the chance of pain.
in a hero’s palm it is salt
it is water.
bunch of words that fell a head
it’s in the breaking of a scented smile
the shadows of a blossoming handshake
it is the bile in a heartache.
on days when the village moon rhymes with stench
I perceive its existence in watery shadows,
it is so new that everyone knows what this makes of me
a cornered soul of joy that brings rain.