Candid words begin the work:
a lifted glass, colours shifting,
a small sound caught by careful ears.
Warmth stirs beneath the skin,
like a kettle warming on a low burner.
A slow rise from hidden channels,
like a quiet tide lifting a tide‑pool.
A thaw loosening the brow,
like a frozen pane cracking as breath slips out.
Ripples gather their own force,
like a child’s splash turning sudden whirl.
A brief fluency pushing forward
before sinking again.
Hands idle at the edge of thought.
Unwritten lines drift downward,
like ink drops spreading on a still pond.
Fine grains collecting
like soft snowfall settling on a calm lake.
Then—
a single drop jumps.
.