Pincer picking leftover facts

pinched with eyes as sheers
tense and pale we peer at the broken soil
almost all out of dust and fall-out

we share a basket, you and I
woven in stories of ancestral techniques
we share a hunger, you and I

wielding a collection of crumbs and threads
following a harvesting of the gross
kneeling on eagerness and foraging for the best

we journeyed on to the neighboring field,
we stay close ’n’ won’t journey out too much
weaving green then yellow golden

and then turned within the pale
our ignorance, that is,
we know of you and I

we glean the grains of our ignorance
it is pure it is spotless, as clean as unknown
we glean there

And we hope for, and heaps more

                            —animasuri’23