It's in the way it's strewn across the table. Laid there, in utter and precarious balance. One on top of the other, in a shapeless puzzle with no sense, but lots of sensitivity.
It's in the way it mingles with others, colours mixing like lovers, dirtying, cleaning, cutting and piercing. Beauty of what's fake, yet real.
Flavored with distaste and a sense of empty spaces, crowded with old memories and new forgotten deals, in between the clutter, there's hope. There's rest. There's sun and moon and a wolf too.
Weight of situations, and mistaken numbers that lead you to talk about the heart that's blue. The shiner and a shining. Boxes with things nobody will ever claim unless you throw them away, and amidst all this, the ray of light upon the surface, the rainbow, the severed rainbow.