The sole of your shoe had opened up;
It was a mouth,
A theatre prop pinched to encase your foot,
A silent story awaiting its audience to assemble.
I was mesmerised by its movement
And wished it to rain –
Malicious, I know, to desire it turned into a fish
Gasping at the bottom of a puddle. –
You squinted sideways,
As if deliberating your next move,
And your question found me unprepared:
What are you?
There was a time – and how I wish it back again –
When the answer required no deliberation.
I am. This much I know.
As for the “what”,
Try me again ten sorrows and a blue moon hence.