Cracks have formed a habit
Of appearing
Out of nowhere
In my ceramic teapot
They settle to
An unseen business
Why do they crawl
Within the dustiness of my floor?
I see them looming to heights
That my creeper has cunningly followed
Ramming unceremoniously inside
The heart of the unbroken egg
Slitting the corner of a space
Where time has ice-frozen
They sit squatting like
An old maiden’s cry.
