lawls

[one hundred, eighty-seven[

their little hands pinch my fingertips with effort,
they step with effort, they jump with ease but it
is anything but
effortless

their little eyes move over things softly seeing through
appearances are irrelevant, like hurricanes to the wind,
like towels to the ocean, like life without love,
but they don't think of it

things they can't say but mute as the colours are
they laugh and smile like you do
and we do, and we do don't we?
and they do.


if they shook more it would sink to the bottom
their breathing life and grasp
but they hold on, holding on,
although their hands may not work and others too
they can and they will do
focus: the little cups of love I work with