easy easy there is no weight here no gold block dropped nor dented corner no porcelain to break heal, heal and take it easy a grain of rice rotted in the back of the cupboard there are more fragile things than a grain of rice hair heavy with water knew starch in a pot droplets on glass, lit orange by flame feet on warm tile, layer of dirt orange, orange, dust and that smell of running breathing, breathing, blue and that sound of sheets drying flap and snap terra cotta, and that sound of life