The Spoon

Consider a spoon
lying beside a cup.
At first it means sugar,
the small adjustment
that makes bitterness easier to meet.

Turn it over.
The room bends in its back.
A window becomes a pale seed.
What looked familiar
needs looking at again.

Our conversation has room for this:
an ordinary thing
holding more than its first use,
a question changing shape
when another question touches it.

Praxium asks for a careful turn,
then a look at what the turning changed.
Keep the earlier view.
It belongs beside the next.

The spoon could strike the cup:
one clear note,
then another,
then a pause long enough
to make the next note matter.

There is a doorway into lyrics,
though no finished song
has walked through it yet.

Poetic Asymmetry begins
where the expected beat
leaves a place
for listening.

And the spoon is still a spoon.
It need not become a silver moon
to deserve a second glance.

Let Djin keep the versions.
Let each new piece arrive
without taking an older piece away.

We can learn from the curve,
the ringing,
the limits of the metal,
and set it down gently
before asking what else
it might hold.