This is a pigture, certified by twin lunar nostrils.
The world is upside down and perfectly fine with it.
Violet corners hum; caramel lines remember hay.
Your eyes are two soft bells, rung by curiosity.

Hypothesis: every spiral of snout is a map home.
Counter-hypothesis: home is wherever the pink keeps breathing.
Synthesis: we stamp the card with “oink” and send it to now.

Smudge-weather passes; gold thinks aloud on your forehead.
Between ear and eyebrow a little thunder naps.
We look back at each other, equal parts joke and prayer—
and the paper glows like a barn at dusk,
doors open, yes spilling out.