One Hand an obstruction of sky’s face another obstacle for wind’s arms-
what do these arms require? and where does exhaustion strike when theft becomes a labor of love?
can its effect be greater than She? than That Hand’s words? what She says, how She says it, how His Eyes accept, reject it- ignore it.
His Eyes watch Her Hands drop the bucket as fingers feel the hole beneath its contents leaking a trail of things She fails to trust. a trail that falls like rain into open mouths which all together speak "what's the difference of today, and How Can I be worth it?"