That grain of rice that hangs from the corner of his lips

I wipe

Bludgeoning the promises of possibilities

That grain of rice that hangs from the corner of the lips

I smudge

Killing the possibilities of transformation

That grain of rice that hangs from the corner of the lips

I do nothing

The man with no teeth keeps looking at me, through me, into the fields where

That grain of rice is soaking to be born.