In the spat ball of tumbleweed, I am indeed contrary. br To the worry black of wonderment, I am war and woe, or wretched, br even when I shape to parallel, permit proceedings. br br I can contradict, compare, confuse, or be complacent. br br In the heart of love, I will pierce the matter, peruse, and parachute. br br I am the atom, the spinning energy, infinite, that once clinched between fingers, will explode into air a sparkle-dust of more atoms, br br or kisses, or hugs, or the stars, or sleeping; br or sitting quietly, silently, listening.