Her feet rose and fell
between fields of paddy

the grass bowed
then looked up on her way.

If only she had wings
and the winds carried her to her sister
she could land right on the yard of her hut
and take her home by the return flight
but her mind soared no less
so before the sun favored the west
she was right by her
laughing and talking like the yore
with only a line of vermilion
that she felt had come between them.

Soon she looked around
and making sure no one was watching
brought out from her skirt a mango.

She gave it to her like
she was giving a piece of her heart
plump yellow green
with the most delicious nectar hidden within
and when she narrowed her lips
to drink from the gift
her tears poured like the summer rain
mingling with the cries of the parched earth.

This panic attack reveals voice and reason left unfiltered ,
a paper airplane relentlessly returning to start  , a disturbed fire ant mound
out of control , a wounded , naked criminal at large
The laden collapse of one cloud in August ,
a broken wing defenseless in the unforgiving forest
A persimmon left for naught , a green apple left to rot
Muted betrayed of mime , a poem forever devoid of rhyme