by Elmira Oktayevna Elvazova
I label you in the wind
You give my lungs
happy-ness
My whole body smiles
I watch you flip a coin in the wind
In some Spring
my ankles light up with recursion
There are flowers, tatted on
like identical daisies
So they bloom, collect rainwater, so too
a rice paddy in the East
I am being traded between
Are we going out?
I was just dropping in
My ribs shuffle, aware
of a breaking
from within
What’s inside
is going to you in some Spring
The coin never lands
