Lungfish

What you retain in the tank of your mind is only what you sew. Bean sprouts and the lavender, smells of exotic tea permeate the pea green leaves of your mustard and cress. Tall white men submerged half to their waist in the waters which stream from your eye are benevolent and best left unnoticed . Silently they do their work, collecting all the black rocks which slip your iris. Small paper boats, made with love and sailed as to bring hope are made of yellow paper, they will never fade in the mountainous waves of your cerebral cortex. In the crank of your nose and the fold of your lips there are birds singing, in the fork of your ears and the skim of your brow there are worms weaving, in the depths of your soul and the nook of your heart there is love flowing.