it was as if a network of pneumatic tubes had been assembled
that connected crayola w/some uncooked corner of the cosmos
the rest of us simply chose to ignore, her head held at an angle

to allow the sounds of the interstellar khoisan to wash over her

& out to the fields. later she transferred it to a scroll she called
crayola in arcana & cached it in a cave high in the mountains
for when the river hit floodstage & carried the valley to town.