sits Shahna, flecked with sun,
feet in hand, flexing
nimble innocent toes.
Her toes are pale and fresh from socks,
dustless and dainty,
without calluses.
She smiles idly,
waiting for experience to drop
ripe from the trees,
Newtonian and unexpectedly revelatory.
She, passive.
She, postulating.
She, perplexing under the trees.
truant to action,
tacit and unmoving.
She winds wisps of hair on spindly fingers,
smiles and sighs,
singing eyesum songs
to no one in particular.
from Inverse Origami - the art of unfolding, page 12
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