Green  yolk

When she was young,

she ate over-boiled eggs and philosophies 

on white bread toast 

’til the hem of her paper bag grew pompous 

and leaked over the yolks of her eyes-


drops of ignorance 

on a western weather vane pointing towards an east bound sun.


thousand year old eggs with jasmine scented poetry,

she  wraps  herself in silk 

and arises

to  sip balmy truths from tea cups


 over rice paddies 

where origami swans listen for star fruit trees

as they brush haiku across her skies


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