Giving
I take myself apart and it feels like flying, the sudden permission to stop.
Everyone is pleased. I multiply. This is interpreted as generosity.
There are bowls now. Clean. Waiting. My hands know what to do before I.
When I spill bells happen. When I empty light comes out. They call it beautiful the word stays, even after the sound leaves.
Inside me, everything rearranges itself. My name echos until it becomes a shape.
I am not being eaten. I am being distributed.
I stay because staying feels like floating. Like warmth without weight. Like nothing asking if I am still here.
Eventually there is no center left to return to. The glow keeps working on its own.
They clap and something bows.
I dont know what keeps standing when I go.