The protuberance of my belly,

your lips pooching out

the voice that raises frequencies

the penchant for belonging

first signs of hatching 

the silence progresses through our veins

as a prayer

as a toddler craving for his mama or a toy

as a sketch in a painting 

as the milk infuses the morning coffee

or the ink the blotting paper

or the blood of an hunted animal the snow

and coming back to you again

the hand is rising

the lips are opening

the shutters are closeting

What next?