Her threads of consciousness
Streams of life

Not embarrassed to be honest, with much washed words
In those streams.

Not drenched
Not dry

A yellow orange sun of earth

Asks
To answer

The query: When will I get to go away
From here to there?

It knows the answer
But likes
To ask.

Emptied the ears, eyes, mind and heart
Of most of their cacophony
On the sun’s query

And surprised self
With Life

The rest of it
Would empty it out
When
The sun is there and not here
Don’t want to see the desert when cold!

Schedules to never
waste the sun