Meet hunger, perched on the windowsill, barking at stomach. What’s another kind of hunger? Rage or want, or rage in want, or appetite and craving: restless dark sky, expectant orange hue emerging still on mother’s horizon.

Fiercer yet: troubled soul in open water, thirst for wave and thunder, break keel, drown hull, the red in pomegranate spills.

No – really, the contours of a waking smile, sooner the muscles stretch, already discernible, like the child’s hand, an extension of pen and paper forming a round shape, top of page, reaching outward rays upon rays. Sun and smile – who would have known to find calm in stormy seas?

A plea for patience, guidance, help. One a signpost

, a sudden stirring from within. Scattered seed, weaved into earth, a threaded needle pricks and pricks until it’s heard. The other an urgent query for direction. It must be now. Handheld desperation, when thousand winding lanes come clashing and human babe must cross.

Certainty is fleeting when governed by thought. Dismiss belief. This one is by far more convincing and trustworthy, though it cannot be owned. Sign over sailor to sea, child to parent, soul to origin. The circling hand prolongs my sun, an always longing met and nourished.