a piece of jackfruit thrown
carelessy on street has crows struggling
to beak their black on the yellow
soft/ sounds are soap-boats on river mask and
people pebbles/
pebbling faster than the soaping is/ making
distance slower/ to reach a yawn must
always have a faithful audience/ stay tuned
like a fork held up to barbecue rain/ must
fall in drops fat as chicken and direct
as elaichi/ between teeth revolves in
mouth resurfacing shores of tongue/
we swallow the taste and leave keep
the leaf dry and moist with our
spit/ a number in the sand is a
number/ to the ears and a grain to the
water/ is a body of pebble helping pebbles
count each other.
