payo’s crust erupted on the morning of the sun kissed gold that turned to flame upon the bird’s wings and flashed before the eyes of man.
it happened quickly, a blink or an involuntary breath, the moment of becoming where the bread that sliced ran thicker and what dripped from it became of molasses, the soil, driven from the water that once bathed its ember.
payo spoke quickly and sharply, a loud echo of a distant voice that said to them, a calm reminder that would only shake them into confusion. a rustled feather or one fallen that lands in such a way so as to pause the onlookers and enchant them into a thought of question, where the path diverges and off trails will lead an abyss into an opening.
payo was a guiding hand, a warm breath, the welcome of the air, or the sounds of beating on the plants of earthen tracks. the memory of perception, of time at once in one way and then the light that shines when passed and glimpsed upon under changed eyes.
as the crow flies, the sheep graze, and small animals birthed of mothers find their way to each other, knowing of ways to stay warm, to stay alive, and finding an eternal joy in what grows beneath them, its decay.
leaves fall or bloom of color, of weeks of rain to green then the drought to brown again. so too the humans felt the rain within them dry, the once deep well untouched and shooting, the veins that once touched others then stopped, and though still loved or perhaps entertained the “what could then,” they stopped themselves, as understood of what will cross their way as their omen spoken and of what laid to rest under dirt, is the circle beside that will touch without tether.
the humans worried of such things ~ money, and love, what was and will be, thinking in a circle that sometimes illuminated the spiral of evolved, but would ultimately rest in a creation that they would fail to see could arise in the form of a triangle, or some other unidentified bearing. as a sheet of pain and past, they walked, still and seeing glimpses of light that blind even the darkened corners of tears, trails that breath open eyes and the heart’s pieces of a human’s “to live” mind that despite any odds, find ways to keep beating with the plan of planets and love against the odds of the chord’s cutting.
payo erupted into them again, her crust breaking and molten something flowing from out. to know as she did but to only work with, and without, the body informed being, that bodies had their own way, of the breath that unites, and still, the space that forges its own, the payo and her humans, and the waking thought of will, the walk and its sitting, as something of it all, but a choice of something small .. the seed of what will, and flowers of the is that bloom only when still.