rice

we have moments
when the sky comes closer
when we spot and feel the earth moving
faster like now as
she walks down the garden
her past-atmosphere is full
bare feet loving the wet grass
with no-one to ask…
what is she doing
she sits on the bench and
eats rice when we are alone
when we are alone

the beauty is bound
through peace amidst constant sound
she wears her hair down
it mornings her face
to whom it may concern,
please – just leave us in grey
for the morning
in the afternoon
with dull
please – return us to the sky
– to itself
under that yellow strip