Breakfast
Beside a sluice rests a home:
humbly weaved with strands of memoirs.
Minute signs of yesterday’s flight
submerge beneath cinders of warmth.
Inside is a temple, Genesis’ daughter,
who rears the seeds of tomorrow’s spring.
Withstanding languor: gravid’s twin,
she awaits the sojourn of a milk-washed kin.
Soon enough, she perches on lives-
each, counting chickens inside their minds.
Alas, they fail to know their fate:
not all will leave their carapace.
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