Hovering on the edge of languages
Of deceptive familiarity
With the honey-in-the-sunlight eye color
Touching and wondering about metamorphism
With your strong hands
Crafting a chainmaille of pointed possibilities
With the right scrabble words
Embracing whirlwinds out of existence
All the recent mountains I own
Are the ones you painted for me,
And those framed in your picture windows.
Why don't we wake a sleeping dog
Play with her
Play a lot.
© Debjani Chakravarty 2012