she enters sideways—
half rumor, half revolution in emerald ink.

the hat spins, a portable galaxy;
her earrings orbit sentences never spoken.

the air smells of turquoise decisions,
and she hums in pink vowels.

hypothesis: poise is an accident of color.
counter-hypothesis: grace leaks from confusion.

her hand rests on time,
casually misplacing the century.

DADA applauds in lowercase,
forgets why, continues anyway.

somewhere between her shoulder and the sky
language melts into gesture.

she looks past us—
into the echo of her own laughter,
where green becomes thought,
and thought becomes silk.