Recitation

It was very complicated, even as it was simple.
One day she was in a crooked box of a shanty
chattering between pots and pans.
Mercury hands flowed and set on a pen.
Set and sprang.

Eyes unlidding old countries, scanned,
gaped
while the mercury hands brought the flying stylus
breathless across a new-known path.

In a quiet home and the land an open
and restive question, she, shy
hands sandduned on a warped woodplank tabletop.
Ocean sussurating outside
like Mercury, gasping.