The plate you’ve seated 

The one underneath your giving

Raw, innocent with a slice of love’

 

What eyes have they? 

What feet have they?

What nose have they?

 

The mortar the pestle, and me

A fresh garden with a promise?

A bird enmeshed by a web?

A raisin in the sun?

 

The holes in the hands that gift

Must I leave a penny on its bottom

Just so you know I can be kind’ too

A bird with no limit I am

 

Ah and still, I must ask

Are you burning the candle from both ends?

The quiet that exists, will it ambush what we have?

And wait, when tomorrow comes scampering 

What fruit will these seeds procure